Blood roared in her ears so loudly she nearly missed the words full recovery passing through the doctor's lips. "What?" she asked, blinking owlishly.
The doctor gave her a reassuring smile. "I said that the surgery went well, and your friend is young and strong; and while it'll be a slow one, he'll make a full recovery."
Breath whooshed out of her lungs and the weight that had been pressing down on her shoulders vanished. "Thank you, doctor," she smiled gratefully.
"Can we see him?" James asked.
"He's still pretty out of it, but you can go in one at a time. Keep it short—he needs his rest."
"Of course," Alisha nodded. "You should go in first," she said, turning to Sarah.
Sarah shook her head and folded her arms around her body. "No, you go. He doesn't want to see me right now and to be totally honest, now that I know that pain in the ass is going to be all right, I'm back to being mad at him."
"Sarah!" James sighed, cocking his head to the side.
"What? It's true," she snapped indignantly. "Don't get me wrong, I'm completely thrilled that he's okay, but he told me I was a train wreck—not cool. Besides, he'd want to see Alisha first anyway. I'm gonna go call Ma and let her know how he's doing." With a tight-lipped smile, she clutched her cell phone and walked away from the group.
James frowned. He'd known Sarah her entire life and she was every ounce as stubborn as her big brother. He knew when to cut his losses. "Alisha, go on in. I'll call the guys at the station."
She felt Maggie squeeze her hand reassuringly. "Good luck. I'll bring your clothes when Russell arrives."
"Thanks, Fabs," Alisha said.
She ignored the strange looks from the nurses (Yeah, her coat didn't cover up the costume that well—she was aware, thanks. And sure, she had about ten pounds of stage makeup on. Whatever.) and proceeded down the hall towards his room. Pausing briefly outside his door, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves and walked quietly into the dimly lit space.
He didn't greet her when she entered. In fact, the only sounds in the room were the quiet whirring and beeping of the machine monitoring his vitals. She stepped closer to the bed and saw that his eyes were closed; his handsome face was marred with various bruises and scratches and he sported a large bandage over his right eyebrow.
It was silly (she thought), but he seemed smaller to her somehow lying in that hospital bed. She was certain it was because she'd never seen him vulnerable before. Her heart ached at first, but then she reminded herself that he would make a full recovery. (and it could have been so much worse) Though she half expected for him to sit up in the bed and spout off something horribly inappropriate and mildly (wholly) offensive.
(She found she really wanted him to)
Pulling up a chair, she sat beside his bed and reached for his hand, gently holding it between hers and occasionally stroking indiscriminate patterns with her finger.
Alisha wasn't sure how long she sat like that, just holding his hand and watching him sleep. (Seconds? Minutes? An hour?) But eventually she felt his hand stir between hers and heard the deep groan rumbling in his chest. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the bed and watched his eyes slowly blink open and survey his surroundings. He turned his head and his eyes settled on her face. "Hi," she whispered, still holding his hand.
Big's eyelids felt like they weighed a metric ton and he struggled to focus. "S'a good dream," he said groggily. And it was. (had to be) Alisha was in her hot as fuck Velma costume and she was smiling at him. Either it was a dream, or he was on some fucking damn good drugs.
Her lips twitched into a smirk and she laughed softly. "You're not dreaming, Jake," she murmured.
He blinked again, felt like he was trying to surface from miles Beneath the sea as he attempted to focus on her face. "Lisha?" His throat felt as dry as the Sahara.
"I'm here."
"This morning—my sister," he managed before he started coughing. "Fuck that hurts," he groaned, squeezing his eyes tight.
"Shh, shh, shh," she pressed her index finger over his lips and hit his morphine button for him. "I know. Sarah told me everything. Just rest."
He had more he wanted to say, but sleep was so enticing. "Stay."
"I'm not going anywhere, Jake. Just get some rest. We'll figure everything out later."
"Yeah?" he asked with a sleepy, crooked grin.
Even lying in a hospital bed he managed to be sexy. Alisha nodded as a smile stretched across her face. She pushed to her feet and dropped a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth (the only part of his face that wasn't mottled by cuts or purple bruising). "Sleep," she ordered quietly.
"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, closing his eyes.
She sat with him until his breathing evened out again.
Alisha slipped quietly from his room and bumped into James. "Oh, I'm sorry, James," she apologized.
"Don't be. Here," he said, thrusting a bag into her arms. "Russell brought it."
"Thank you," she smiled gratefully. She couldn't wait to put on normal clothes, so people would stop staring at her. (and she'd be a thousand times more comfortable)
"How's he doing?" he asked, nodding towards Big's room.
"Groggy," she sighed. "He looks terrible—and I know it could have been just so much worse, but still, he's pretty banged up."
James hung his head, guilt pouring over him. "I'm sorry. I should've—" the voice cracked as it trailed off.
Alisha frowned. "James, stop it; please. This is not your fault. He's going to be fine. Why don't you go sit with him? I'm going
