Wounded, Not Lost

Gabriel opens his eyes for the first time in a week. For the first time since the battle. I feel myself choking on air as I see the gold flecks twirling around in his beautiful brown eyes. The relief is almost unbearable and I croak out, my voice failing me,
"You've been away for a long time. Were you lost?"
Gabriel smiles and whispers back hoarsely,
"I was wounded not lost."
I swear at him, and I kiss him, and I swear at him, and I hug him as tight as I dare with his injuries, and I swear at him.
Gabriel just laughs weakly and holds me. Listening to my swearing patiently. Accepting it. Accepting me.
I don't understand how I deserve him. What I've done to make him accept me and love me as I am. I am not exactly very lovable.
But he does. And I've never been so fucking thankful for something.
I sigh and gently brush his hair away from his forehead.

Gabriel mumbles something in French. I think I know what it means, so I repeat it back to him. He smiles and laughs a little bit.
I don't think my French pronunciation is the best, but the point is made.
Then we just lay there, holding hands, nuzzling up to each other. Feeling that we're both alive. That we survived. That we can make our lives together now.
"Take me to Wales." I nod, this time knowing it will happen.
Celia comes in at some point asking me to go eat something, and let Gabriel rest. I swear at her and throw the nearest thing I can find at her, which happens to be a bucket of water used to rinse Gabriel's wounds. She takes the hint and leaves us alone. I realise Gabriel's arms have tightened around me. He didn't want me to leave either.
I look at him. How could I have ever doubted that I love him. All the time wasted on Annalise. I couldn't give a fuck about her anymore. All I care about is Gabriel. And now we've got all the time in the world. I will not let anyone hurt him ever again. We will go to Wales. To France. We will have a quiet life far away from everyone.