She was stretched out across him, her head resting on his chest. Her legs were tangled with his in a mess of sheets, and her hair spilled across his chest. He couldn't seem to stop touching her. It had been so close. Too close. For the hundredth time in less than an hour, his fingers traced the outline of the bandage that covered the wound on her back. If the knife had been a few inches in either direction, it would have punctured a lung instead of glancing of her rib. And then she probably wouldn't be here, safe and warm in his arms. His fingers moved over her back, memorizing every curve and contour . . . savoring the softness.
She sighed, her breath feathering lightly over his chest. "Oliver . . . " she said softly. His fingers stilled as she pressed up, squinting as she gazed up at him. He reached out without looking away from her, grabbing her glasses. Once, she had told him how frustrating it was to not be able to see his face, during moments like this when she had removed her glasses. She smiled as he handed them to her, and he felt the corner of his mouth lift. "Better, thanks. Now whatever you're thinking . . ."
He exhaled heavily. They hadn't really talked about it. He didn't really want to. It could have gone the other way, and he was thankful as hell that it hadn't, because he honestly had no idea what he would have done. She had downplayed it when it had happened, and it hadn't even been that serious, but it could have been. "Felicity . . ."
She looked at him earnestly, and there was a sudden sadness in them. "If something ever happens to me, you can't blame yourself."
He snorted at that, looking away from her and up at the ceiling.
"No Oliver, I'm serious. You can't."
He shifted his gaze down at her again, unable to keep the intensity out of his voice. "If something ever happens to you, it will be my fault."
She pressed herself into a sitting position next to him, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. She just stared at him, her eyes boring in to his. Her hair surrounded her, and it occurred to him how few people saw her with her hair down unless she was dressed up. He reached up and caressed her cheek, completely unable to refrain from touching her after the way things had gone down earlier.
Her eyes closed and she tilted her face into his palm. She slowly shook her head from side to side. "No, Oliver," she said opening her eyes. "My life, my choice, remember?"
And then she kissed him again, murmuring words of love and hope and peace. He took what she offered, then he held on her tight as the first rays of dawn filtered through her windows, as sleep finally overtook her. His fingers returned to her back, mapping her skin.
Please, don't ever let it come to that. Please.