Wick's POV

Wick has recently found himself working arduously at believing the fact that Raven was simply a person in his life. But really, it's more like she's the person. She's the person he first thinks of when he wakes up bleary and cranky with late daylight streaming through the window. She's the one he will always look to when he's cracking jokes in the group. She's the person who, when it's two in the morning and he's eating pickles straight out of the jar because his sleep schedule is messed up and he doesn't have the energy to cook, he wishes she was there to suffer the insomnia induced snack with him.

So realistically he knows he isn't fooling anyone (meaning himself) and that he really ought to admit how far gone he was (once again, to himself).

The worst part was, though, every time he allowed himself to consider the truth he was forced to submit to the crushing reality of the fact that she might be his person, but he wasn't hers. Which meant that he would not be sharing pickles with her at two in the morning. (It also meant he wouldn't be doing any of the other things he would like to be doing at two in the morning with her either).

It was all a bit depressing because January was drawing to a close and it had been almost three months since that initial meeting and things keep getting harder, not easier. It was easier in ways, because she trusted him more and let him help her in ways no one else had ever stood a chance to since Finn. But it was harder because she let him in while simultaneously making certain he was always a little bit out. There was a very clear boundary mark and he couldn't even dare put a toe over it.

And it's hardly as though he can talk through all of this bullshit with anyone. All of his friends at this point were also her friends, probably a bit more so if he was being honest. Not to mention all of them had very big mouths, and anything he said would ultimately end up as information straight back to Raven.

So he just keeps suffering in silence, trying not to stare at her lips every time they talked and forcing her from his mind whenever she popped up.

Not that she helped matters. In fact, she made it so much worse when she bit her lip in thought or pulled her pony tail holder from her hair. If he didn't know any better he would say she's doing it on purpose. He most definitely knows better though and wouldn't dare accuse her of any such things. If anything, Raven would kill him for thinking about her that way.

So he does his best to keep his lovesick, puppy dog stares down to a minimum. Or at least, he does once Monty points out that he's doing it. ("Dude, you look at her like everything in your life was black and white and now she's this bright ass rainbow of colour.")

He's wandering through the halls as usual on his second overnight of the week. It was a Wednesday and Raven was off. Jasper was working in her place and though he could always visit him, Wick didn't know if he was up for the nerd fest at this hour.

Somewhere along the way he found himself in the ED. He bumps into Lincoln and makes some small talk, mainly about how they were an unfortunate pair to be stuck on the night shift. The fact that this poor dude's life was about to change in every way possible, or end once Bellamy caught wind of this whole ordeal, sat heavy on Wick's mind. He felt pretty damn guilty for knowing about this guy's impending child when Lincoln didn't yet. Wick wondered what he would think about the news. A simple mention of Octavia's name in conversation changes his whole demeanour though, and Wick decides he'll probably be just fine with the development.

Something about the TV in the waiting room catches his eye. The hour has just rolled to five and the news channels were all beginning their broadcasts. Usually he didn't find traffic jams and weather reports to be all that interesting. (Cars moved slowly. It was fucking cold. Where was the news exactly?) But something entirely different catches his attention that morning.

The scene they pan around is a familiar one to him, talking about the armed and dangerous robber who had been scavenging the area.

"Two civilians have already been declared dead and six more in critical condition." The woman on the television announces and another sweeping shot of the affected area leaves Wick's heart stuttering in his throat. "At the current time there has not been an identified suspect. However, if anyone sees any sort of suspicious activity we ask that you call us immediately."

"Raven," her name falls past his lips without a second thought. "Shit," he adds, shooting Lincoln a look. It wasn't technically legal for him to leave the hospital, not without another engineer on site to relieve him, but he couldn't bring himself to fucking care.

He takes the stairs two at a time to the first floor and half jogs his way to the front doors of the hospital. There's no surprise when he finds Monty hanging around at Jasper's desk.

Pulling his work phone out of his pocket Wick holds it out. Monty just looks at it and then watches Wick pant, out of breath from his running but also from the panic that seemed to be choking him. "Is there a Reyes in the ER?" he asks Jasper in broken gasps of air, her name caused another crippling bought of fear to run through him.

Jasper shoots him a frightened look before clicking and typing. He shakes his head no. "I don't see her."

Wick pushes the phone further towards Monty. "Pretend to be engineering if anyone calls." He didn't care about that, not right now. "I have to go."

"Is Raven okay?" Monty asks, both of them having picked up on her last name a moment ago.

The yes dies on his lips with the photo of her trailer, hers specifically, filling up the television downstairs. "Just answer the phone if it rings, Monty." That's the best he can do right as he darts out the front door and to his truck, running in a way that leaves his lungs burning as he breathes in the early morning air.

His engine struggles its way to life and Wick peels out of the parking garage, breaking speed limits in ways that he hadn't done before. The whole ride over he tries to talk himself down. It was a big trailer park after all. Statistically speaking Raven's involvement might not even be existent. But he just hears about the two dead and the six in critical condition and his stomach drops all over again because what if it is her.

The thought is the sort that nearly causes him to vomit. The neighbourhood is flooded with police when he gets there, the street blocked off to prevent him from driving down. He moves his truck halfway off the road and doesn't hesitate to turn it off and take off in the direction of her trailer.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," some cop calls after him and if Wick didn't think there was a potential they would shoot him down he wouldn't stop. But he does, turning to face the man who had called out to him. "This is a crime scene, you can't just go running in here."

"The whole damn neighbourhood can't be a crime scene," he argues, completely unsure if the statement was true or not. Regardless it doesn't seem to make the cop feel more inclined to help him. "Listen, my friend lives here and I saw this on the news and she…I just…" he doesn't even know what to say. Again the anxiety tightens around him like a vice. There doesn't really seem to be a right answer on what to do, but he can't not check on her. His clenches at just the thought, at the very idea of her not answering the door. Damn, he wishes she had a fucking phone. "Please?" he finally asks because he's not above begging. Not when it comes to her.

The cop shakes his head firmly no, hand resting just over the gun or the taser or whatever on his hip. "This is an active crime scene with a suspect who is armed and still at large. I absolutely cannot let you in."

Wick's hands pull at his hair and he cycles through all of the different ways he can convince this guy, all of the lies he could tell or distractions he could cause to sneak by. He might be better equipped to deal with this if his thoughts weren't spinning and his chest tightening and if Raven Reyes wasn't this fucking person that he had gone from caring about to loving in ways he had never intended or accepted or agreed to. But she was and he didn't know if she was safe and it was eating him up in ways that he wasn't familiar with. He thinks of the phone call he got years ago. He thinks about staring down at broken, mangled bodies, and he thinks about the fact that there wasn't anyone else to do that for Raven and he couldn't do it again.

So he ultimately says nothing, but the cop reaches out and starts patting him down and Wick is still too panicked to think much of it before the cop says, "I'm going to look over in that direction," he points opposite of where Wick stands, "for the next minute or so. If you decide to break the law and sneak through then I know nothing about it. Got it?"

He nods his head fast and doesn't bother with anymore words as he jogs past the cop and around the barricade of police cars. No point in pushing his luck with any questions.

There are ambulances and fire trucks and even just some empty goddamn body bags lying on the ground, as if waiting for someone unfortunate enough to fill them. He ignores all of it, focused on his original destination and nothing else. His fist meets her door with more force than might be necessary but the worry is what drives his knuckles against it over and over.

The first thing he notices is how empty the area around her trailer is. Wick doesn't know if that means something for the better or worse. It either meant she hadn't been affected or it meant that she was already halfway to the morgue. It wasn't a comforting thought.

At first there's no answer and his blood runs cold and his hand start to sweat. It's only then he thinks that he should have just asked for names of victims, their trailer numbers, anything that could have given him an answer then and there. He bangs even louder for a few extra seconds before the door blessedly swings wide. "What the fuck do you-" she starts to ask but he throws his arms around her as soon as she's in front of him.

She doesn't wear anything more than a t-shirt and her boyshort underwear and she's propped up in front of him on her crutches but he doesn't let any of that stop him as he hugs her like he never will be able to again. There had been a moment, just mere seconds ago, where he wondered if that was true. The relief he feels now is almost palpable. If his arms weren't so tight around her he would worry about knocking her off balance. She didn't stand a chance of falling when he was holding her like this, though.

"What the hell is going on?" she asks, her arms still holding on to her crutches. "Why are there so many police lights out there?" She pulls away and looks at him in question. It would be easier to answer if he wasn't still completely consumed with the relief that she was okay.

"I know you sleep like the dead, Reyes," he speaks like his entire life hadn't just shifted for a moment. He tries to remember what words and jokes and smiles all meant before it had momentarily felt like none of it ever really mattered at all. "But even I'm impressed you managed to sleep through this."

The shiver that courses through her body doesn't surprise him, it is somewhere in the single digits tonight. Her shaking reminds him of the fact that he had forgotten his coat in his rush to get over here. He jerks his head toward the inside of her trailer and she nods, navigating on her crutches to turn around and go back inside. He shuts the door behind him, noticing the stark difference in the temperature. Clearly the part had arrived for the heat.

"Was there another robbery or something?" she asks him, her eyes still glazed with sleep. She brings her head down to meet her hand so she can rub at her eyes without dropping her crutch.

"Or something," he sighs. "Apparently some guy broke into five different homes and shot a bunch of people."

"Shit," she breathes out, much like he had when the news had first hit him. "Is everyone…" she fades off and looks down at her knee and he remembers what guns signify to her. Even if you survived a gunshot, being okay was awfully subjective.

He's not sure how to answer her because there was something about saying no that he's not sure he can take. Not when she's looking at him like that at least. "Did I wake your mom?" he asks instead, glancing to the clock on the stove and remembering he did have a place to go back to. Sooner rather than later would probably be for the best.

With a pointed look Raven walks over to the hall and points her ear in that direction. It was a bit exaggerated and he isn't sure if she's mocking him or not. "Doesn't seem like it," she tells him and then gestures for him to sit at their table. "Are you thirsty? We don't have much but if you want a drink there's water and…" she swings the door to the fridge open and peers inside. "Milk. Wait, no, that's expired." She tosses it in the trashcan still half full. "Okay so water or hard liquor."

It's probably intended to be a joke but Wick doesn't laugh. "Water's good," he says instead. He sits at the table but with a shaking leg and a heart that's just remembering how to beat right again.

Raven opens the cupboard and uses her good leg to stand on tiptoes, staring in to find a cup. It's empty so she goes to open the dishwasher where the stench of alcohol sifts out of. She slams it back shut and goes to the sink, picking up a plastic cup and moving to dump it out. What pours from it is thick, dark liquid. With a grimace she throws it back in the sink and falls into a chair at the table, her head falling into her hands as her crutches balance haphazardly.

"It's okay," he offers as reassurance. He tries to help her save face by waving away her offer. "I don't need it. I should be getting back to work actually."

Her eyes widen at the statement and all prior embarrassment seems to be forgotten. "You just left work?" she questions, her voice incredulous. When he doesn't immediately answer she gets all the more worked up. "You can't just leave!" she shouts. "Do you know much trouble you could get in?" She's standing again and makes a grab for her crutches. Walking over to him, she pulls on his arm to get him up. "Go," she demands, pushing him towards the door.

"I left Monty with the phone, it'll be fine," he offers as a promise. It makes no difference, though. Raven still pushes him with insistence towards the door. He's more than a little impressed at how she still manages to shove him even with the use of her crutches. "Alright, alright, I'm going." In no way would he ever admit it, but just before he leaves he turns and looks at her again, committing the way her hair fell when she just woke up and how her body leaned just so when she stood to memory. "Lock this behind me," he insists in a dark voice. Tonight seemed like the sort of night that would stick with him long after the new day started.

She offers him a mocking salute and he steps out. He almost expects a door in the face but she continues to stand, watching expectantly. With heavy steps he walks away from her and back towards his truck.

It's on the drive back to the hospital that he acknowledges that he had never before been so afraid of losing someone.

He ignores the voice that reminds him she's not his to lose.

Two days after the whole ordeal and Wick has almost gone crazy. He's had three separate dreams that all consisted of Raven's death. (It always ended with a gunshot.) It's gotten to the point where he knows that he either needs to talk to someone about it or continue to slowly lose his mind. Along with his immunity and basic functioning due to lack of sleep.

On Friday night at work he spends more time visiting her than usual, trying to drink in all of the Raven Reyes he can for the day. She's a bit on the grumpy side but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to and the first time he makes her smile that night causes everything in him to melt down to nothing, his heart too warm to survive it.

"So," he opens with, perched on the side of her desk and fiddling with one of the pens on her desk. She shoots him a look every time he reaches over and twirls the end of her ponytail with it. "I do believe I owe you some driving lessons."

The response he had expected was indifferent eye rolling or even an 'about damn time.' But instead she has to bite her lip to tuck away her smile and she looks up at him through long eyelashes. His heart literally fucking stops at that look and he beats himself for not bringing this up so many days sooner. If he knew he would get that look he would have invited her the day after she'd brought it up. The fact that they had both been so busy, not to mention the endless snow, was irrelevant.

"You didn't forget then," she says after collecting herself a bit and looking away.

"Please," he mutters as he does his very best to ignore the many responses his body is having. "I have far too good of follow through for that."

She scoffs and Wick can't help it, he's offended. "When have I ever not followed through?" he challenges, half teasing but also invading her space a little bit further. He wanted her to realise that when he said something, he stuck with it. That was important for her to know. Or at least, this was important for him to know she was aware of.

Of course her mouth immediately opens to respond. This was Raven Reyes after all; she always had some sort of response. He gets the glorious moment of watching her confident, ready expression fade into one of questioning and confusion. Her jaw slips shut as her eyes scan back and forth, as if flipping through her brain for the answer. "See?" he asks, reminding himself to be gentle as he nudges her leg with his foot. "Told you so."

Again, she has nothing to say and Wick is a bit flabbergasted by the silence. Raven wasn't one to give up on a fight.

With a winning smile he slides from her desk and walks to the doors to leave. He could at least pretend to do some work for the next two hours before he came back here to pick her up and drive her home.

"Kyle." She stops him just as the scanner releases it's 'beep' when he drags his badge across it.

Without a second thought his entire self comes to a stop. Never before had she used his first name. He didn't realise how foreign of a word it was until it fell past her lips. The swirl of his stomach and the build of his pulse are ignored as he turns back around to face her.

For whatever reason he's shocked to find her expression so blank. It wasn't that it was an uncommon look for her, but his name falling past her lips had felt monumental in his mind and he's unrightfully disappointed that she doesn't appear to have experienced that same shift. "Thank you for following through." There's no smile so he knows it's not a joke. There's no tears so he knows it's not out of desperation. There's just earnest eyes and a vulnerable stare so he knows it's nothing but sincerity.

He doesn't say you're welcome. He was the one who was grateful he got the chance to follow through at all.