Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

57. Hurry Up and Wait, Pt. 2

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Just as Reggie had said, (Y/N) was taken to the operating room the following day. Her condition had greatly improved overnight, and she was promptly cleared for surgery that morning. Stolas left the hospital around midnight, requesting the staff call him for any updates. Striker, however, pulled up a chair and stayed at (Y/N)'s side throughout the night. He remained in the room after she had been wheeled to pre-op, Reggie coming in a few minutes later.

"She'll likely be transferred to another unit after the surgery," he said to Striker, noting the dark half-circles under the imp's eyes. "Would you like some coffee?"

Striker cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers, straightening his sore back in the very uncomfortable chair. "Black."

Reggie turned and left the room, returning a minute later with a Styrofoam cup of steaming black coffee. Handing the cup to Striker, he smiled and said, "My shift's over, but I told the dayshift nurse to keep you posted."

Striker nodded slightly before taking a long sip of his coffee. "So you took care of her the last time she was here?"

"While she was in intensive care, yeah," Reggie replied, sticking his hands in his scrub pockets. "She was on the vent most of that time, though — that's the machine that breathes for you. I'm glad she didn't have to be put on it again this time."

Striker didn't respond, instead choosing to hold the Styrofoam cup to his lips, his tired eyes slowly looking the incubus up and down.

"You're her boyfriend, aren't you?" he said, already knowing the answer. "Lucky guy. She's a sweetheart. My wife loves her — especially since she kinda rescued her from getting her ass kicked."

He glanced down at Striker, noticing his slightly puzzled expression and continuing: "It was probably a couple months ago now, but they had a patient on their floor that was in withdrawals. Just going absolutely ballistic — swinging at anybody who got near him. He elbowed Missy in the ribs, and he would've done more damage if (Y/N) hadn't pulled her out of the way and gotten a big-ass fist to the face." He chuckled sheepishly. "Poor Missy went on for a week saying how bad she felt about it."

Striker kept silent, staring down into his drink, briefly recalling the large, splotchy bruise on (Y/N)'s face when he'd returned to Pride from his last job. And his jaw clenched when he remembered just how much grief he'd given her about it.

Reggie checked his wristwatch and clapped his hands together. "Well, I ought to get going. Gotta take the missus to her prenatal appointment."

Striker watched Reggie leave the room and greet a short imp in purple scrubs entering the unit. She smiled sweetly at him as he bent down and planted a quick kiss on her mouth, his hand resting on her tiny baby bump.

The gesture caused a knot to form in Striker's stomach, a deep frown tugging at his lips. He sighed heavily, tearing his eyes away from the couple and forcing himself to focus on the hot coffee in his hand.

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After her surgery, (Y/N) was transferred to a stepdown unit — her own unit. Stolas returned to the hospital shortly before she was transported to her new room, watching attentively like a worried father while they pulled her unconscious frame from the stretcher to the bed.

Striker sat on the cheap nylon couch against the wall with (Y/N)'s belongings bag beside him, observing the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest with each breath she took. He filed through the plastic bag, and although it was mostly filled with the clothes (Y/N) had worn when she was brought to the hospital, he found both her rattlesnake pendant and Stolas' Asmodean crystal at the bottom of the bag.

"I believe this is yours, feathers," he said, tossing the crystal to Stolas.

The prince looked down at the blue and gold pendant in his palm, his expression flattening. "I had told her to be careful. But I knew if she were to go looking for you, it would only end badly. . ."

Striker sat quietly on the couch, eyeing his tall frame.

Stolas shook his head, then let out a small, dry chuckle. "I still haven't the slightest idea what she sees in you."

Striker raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. His eyes fell back to (Y/N), noting every twitch and tiny movement she made.

"She hasn't told you how she came here, has she?"

Stolas blinked at him. "You mean to Hell?" he responded. "No. We've never discussed it . . . Why?"

Striker shook his head. "Nothin'. S'not for me to tell you."

The pair soon quieted when they noticed (Y/N) beginning to stir more and more. She made small infantile moans and whimpers as she slowly woke from her sedation, listlessly turning her head from side to side every minute or so. Her eyes were tightly shut, her brows knitted together.

Striker approached the bed, looking over her for a moment, then laid his hand on her shoulder.

"(Y/N)," he said softly. "Can you hear me?"

(Y/N)'s tossing slowed, and her head lay to the side on the pillow. Her brows furrowed and relaxed, furrowed and relaxed, as she struggled to wake up and open her eyes. She mewled weakly, trying to find the strength to speak.

After several more agonizingly long minutes, (Y/N) finally began to open her eyes. She looked up at the buzzing fluorescent lights, blinking rapidly. Then her eyes wandered — to the staff passing by outside the door, to Stolas at her bedside, to the IV pumps dripping medication and liquid nourishment into her bloodstream, and finally, to Striker.

The two stared at each other for a long time. No words were exchanged until at last, (Y/N) slurred in a faint raspy whisper:

"Stri. . ."

Striker's heart clenched in his chest, a strained smile pulling at his lips. He brought his hand to her face, gently caressing her cheek.

"Hey, darlin'."