The Ones We Win

Chapter Seventeen: The Ones We Win

You woke in the hospital, unsure of how much time had passed, this time much more drugged up judging by the strangely good mood you were in.

Or perhaps your mood had something to do with the sight of Spencer slumped in the chair next to your bed, a yellow cardigan draped over him, snoring softly.

"Merry Christmas," although it came out raspy and barely audible, he still snapped awake, rushing to your side and holding your hand like it was made of glass.

"Hey," his eyes were full of fear and worry but also relief and care. "You're safe, it's okay."

You smiled softly at him.

"No, it's not."

His expression shifted, not sadder but more earnest. He knew you were right.

Smiling, he whispered, "No. No, it's not. But it will be."

For a while the two of you sat there, holding hands, enjoying each other's company without having to worry about imminent danger for the first time ever.

You cleared your throat, memories coming back as the morphine wore off.

"Is . . . is Steve . . . ?"

Spencer frowned, looking down at the ground.

"Steve. . . the bullet entered right in his neck ... they-they operated for hours but ... he-he slipped into a coma. I'm sorry."

You nodded seriously, forcing back the tears that threatened to escape. Somehow, after all you'd been through, you'd become numb to such awful news. Although, it could be the morphine.

"And J.J.?"

"She's fine. Well, she'll be okay."

You nodded again, glancing down at where your hands were joined.

"What now?"

"Well, um there are some things the FBI has to go over with you, so once you've recovered a bit more, they're gonna have to ask you a few questions."

"Can't you do it?"

His cheeks went pink and he cleared his throat awkwardly, hand shifting in yours.

"I, um, I've been unassigned from the case."

"Why?!"

"C-conflict of interest."

"Oh, right."

Although you weren't sure exactly which conflict of interest he was referring to. It was either the fact he'd been kidnapped along with you, or it had to with how much he'd told them about what happened at the cabin.

You must have been blushing because he removed his hand from yours and stood, starting to pace, frantically wringing his hands.

"Look, about what I . . . I only . . ." he sighed.

"You know, for someone who's constantly talking, you sure do have trouble finding your words," you smiled at him.

He chuckled, running a hand through his fluffy hair that had gotten much messier since you'd last seen it. There was also a hint of a five o'clock shadow on his jaw. How long had he been sitting with you?

"Y/N, I . . . I meant everything I said."

You swallowed, feeling the weight of that sentence implied on you.

"That you . . . you—"

"I love you," the words practically spilled out of his mouth, as if he couldn't have possibly held them back any longer.