What Derives From Hate?

• 32 •

I woke up, my eyelids heavy and reluctantly opening. Sure knew what they were doing because wherever I was the lights were too bright. Kinda cynical but I adjusted. That took me a bit before my heart rate picked up, just throwing my fear out saying 'hey, i'm a badass vigilante and i'm not supposed to fear anything but hey. here i am,' they screamed. The hospital was bright, why did it have to be bright?

"Hey, you're awake.." Nick whispered, propping himself up on his hand. His hair was out of place, and he had the beginnings of a beard.

"How- how long have I been out?" I winced, my hand touching my bandaged, fixed and still hurting wound. The mauvais dentes did this.

"Uh, a week. They sedated you... A LOT once you got in here. I had the craziest conversation with them on how you got your wounds." I saw a genuinely big smile grace his face, from ear to ear. My instinct was to immediately run my fingers through his hair to fix but I dont know about all the Intravenous Lines and meds running through me.

"What did you say?" The constant beep of my heart monitor annoyed me to no end but I guess it was essential, to say the least. Isn't there anything more advanced that doesn't beep constantly? Sadly, no. There isn't, much to my dismay or misfortune.

"Well, I may have said you came in contact with the Wolverine. I mean, Hey! They didn't even ask. Just fixed you up and made you a room. Anything's believable these days." Nick knew I would have smiled but with the bandages, strictly prohibited until the scratches are scars.

"These..." I said, still but barely affected by the drugs. "Are gonna be some badass scars. Intimidating but badass nonetheless." Nick chuckled and nodded, agreeing. "Mmm.. When can I get back to work?"

"Two days ago according to the doctors. They wanted ya here for post op infections and the whole busted ear drum thing. Why in the hell would you shoot a gun in a small room?"

I couldn't think of a single word. Jennifer Gibbs, Queen of snark, was stuttering. Me, not being able to say something to Nick. It was humiliating. "I killed it, didn't I?"

"Mhm, that you did. And punching the damn thing? I thought you were smart." Disobeying the Intravenous Lines, I grabbed his face, smiling without a care in the world.

"Just following through. And hey! I designed our house. All on my own. I built the blueprints, the A.I system, the fingerprints and retinal scans. The cameras, the glass. I am damn smart. An IQ of 208. Don't underestimate me." He sighed, shaking his head. The doctor, my doctor strolled into the room, discharge forms in hand.

"Ahhh, Miss Gibbs. We were beginning to think you wouldn't wake up. Nick here believed you would and here you are." Nick took the discharge forms, signing where needed and for me too.

"Well, I believe enough for the both of us. Nick's a bit... how do I say it? Close minded." Everyone in my room let out a chuckle, Nick who was just shaking his head.

"Good to see your week long vacation didn't leave your snark behind."

"Mmm, you can steal from me but my snark? God, I was born with it. Came right out my mom's--"

"Alright, uh. That-- That's enough. Thank you."  The doctor mumbled, jotting down my vitals one last time. "Mr. Burkhardt, are you almost done?"

"Yeah, I am." Nick's face split into a comfortable grin, those words meaning more than just three simple things out of a "normal" human's mouth. They meant that the love of my life and I could go home. Home. Such a funny word. Sometimes, if I think back hard enough, I can hear my younger self begin to question that word. Question whether people like myself deserve or even get a home. After the evil I did alongside my friends, who would have thought I'd ever find anything? Much less a loving person and my own home?