The Expansion of the Universe

Forty-Five | "Protect!"

Austin had been gone for nearly forty-five minutes.

A doctor had finally come by after several hours of the two sitting in silence, nearly giving Liza a heart attack when the man had burst into the room with a cheery, "Good morning!" Austin had thankfully intervened, quickly stepping up and blocking the doctor's approach, beginning a hushed conversation that eventually led the two outside of Elijah's room.

The longer Liza waited for Austin to return, the antsier she became. It was nice having him with her, even if they hadn't been speaking; his presence provided an extra layer of security that comforted her.

Now, with Austin gone and Milo staring between her and Elijah quizzically, as though her dog wanted to know why one of his favorite playmates was ignoring him, Liza felt her grief returning in full force.

Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes. She hated how quiet it was! Never before had she been in Elijah's presence when it was so damn quiet. Elijah wasn't quiet.

"Elijah?" She asked, her voice raspy from such a long period of silence. "Elijah?" No response, and the tears began to fall. Even if he was going to be fine, it was hard to think past the present moment, where Elijah was lying in bed, so very silent and still.

"Elijah?" Nothing. But, surely, there was one action to which he would respond: Knock, pause, knock, wait, wait, wait, knock.

She did it one more time, dropping Milo's leash from her other hand to swipe at the snot dripping from her nose.

For once, she wasn't anxious about her appearance or what others would think of her; she just wanted her Elijah back, damn it!

She didn't even care what the patterned knocks meant, because she would say anything, so long as he recognized the noises and came back to her.

"Elijah," she whimpered, tugging at his hand like she always did when she was nervous and uncomfortable. If speaking and knocking hadn't captured his attention, her touch surely would. She wasn't sure how, but he always knew, even if there were a hundred things going on around them, when she needed him.

"It's okay, doll," he would murmur before wrapping her hand in his, the only human contact she tolerated and actually craved, his voice a deep, soothing rumble, "It's fine. You're with me and Milo, aren't you? What will happen?"

And she would squeeze his hand and tuck herself into his side, where it was safe, and reply, "Nothing."

Then Elijah, her Elijah—her wonderful, kind, patient, goofy, annoying, beautiful Elijah—would chuckle lowly, dust a kiss over her hair, and say in that suave, smug way of his, "Of course. No one will mess with me, especially if they know my reputation in Super Smash Bros. I'm unbeatable, babe."

And then she would ask why that mattered, he would tell her that she clearly needed to play more video games, she would say she hated them, and why the hell wasn't he waking up so they could have this conversation in person?!

Like they were meant to?!

"Elijah," she begged, tugging at his hand harder, desperation in her tone. "Elijah, please wake up. Elijah, I'm scared."

Hadn't that always worked before, too?

She would confess her fear, and his face would change, though it always depended on the situation. Sometimes, when they were watching a movie and the noise became too much for her, she would murmur those words, and his features would soften into something gooey and sweet, and he would turn the TV off before cuddling her close and reminding her that she was safe in their little universe, just him, her, and Milo.