I bounce my leg impatiently as I sit on the couch waiting for him. The tv plays and I try to pay attention but I just can't. I'm so worried about him. I close my eyes for a couple seconds and force myself to take deep breaths. He's fine. It's funny, no matter how many times I tell myself that I just don't believe it. I have no idea what version of him will walk through that door any minute now. My heart races in my chest, I just want him here.
In that moment the keys twist in the lock on the other side of his front door. Fear strikes my heart and I force myself to stand up. I face the door and see his tall frame enter the apartment. He's shielded by darkness, yet somehow I can see how hurt he is. He places his keys on the kitchen counter and stands there, leaning against it. I take it upon myself to walk over to him. Still hidden by the dark I can only see the outlines of his face, accompanied by some light, or what appears to be light, bruising.
I don't know why but I immediately start crying. I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder. He grunts once in pain and returns the gesture. I turn my face to his cheek and cry against it, holding his face with my hand. I stand up on my toes, my fingers slipping into his hair at the base of his neck.
"Are you alright?" I ask him quietly, brushing my lips against his cheek.
"Everything hurts." He whispers, not even trying to hide it from me as he usually would. "I'll be in hell tomorrow."
Instantly I let him go even though I don't want to. His face appears as though it's caved in slightly courtesy of the bruising. I'm afraid to turn the lights on, part of me doesn't want to know the damage that's been done to him.
"How are your hands?" I ask him gently.
He slowly puts his hands in front of him. The small cuts have torn open again. There are fresh splinters in them, probably from him being on the ground. I close my eyes for a second if he had lost he wouldn't be here. I shake the thought away, he's alive.
"Shit." Marshall curses, cringing in pain as I examine him.
"Come over here." I say, leading him to the sink.
I begin to wash his hands off. Out of all his injuries this is the one I'm most worried about. He can't have half ready hands. He has to be able to punch without damaging them. I clean them quickly, really just trying to get some of the dried blood off. Once I'm finished I have no idea what to do next. I don't know how to help him.
He puts his hands on the counter on either side of me and gets as close as he can without touching me. I gaze up at him and he leans down, pressing a good kiss to my lips. We kiss for a while and I feel his hands slowly slide off the counter and brush my stomach. It reminds me of my talk with Maverick today, it would make him feel better to know.
"I talked to Maverick earlier today." I say, and he tenses up.
"Why?" He asks me, trying to bury the hostility in his voice. I'll give him a pass, he's had a long night.
"You know why." I say gently and place my hand over his. "I know we're getting the test back tomorrow, but I did bring it up-"
"And?" He cuts me off, staring at me attentively.
I look up at him and smile, clamping my teeth over my lip. I nod at him a few times and watch the realization take over. He glances down at his hands and then back up to me quickly. Then he flashes his beautifully crooked smile, leaning forward and kissing me again. My heart skips for a moment, and I feel his hands make their way downward. Unexpectedly one of them clamps down hard on my backside and I jump a little, making him laugh.
"If I wasn't in so much pain I'd go full daddy on you right in this kitchen." He jokes, and we both laugh.
"You need to rest." I tell him, putting my hands on his shoulders. "And shower." I say, spotting a hint of blood on his cheek.
