January 26th, 18:09

It had been a long day. A very long day. Three very long days, and still Elena was there. She hadn't left the hospital since Michael had collapsed, always nearby, spinning wildly from terrified despair to horrifying hope, and finally, when the doctors took him off the morphine earlier that day, leveling out to something approaching quiet calm. Whatever happened now, there was nothing she could really do to change it. He was through the worst, they said, and yet she knew better than most that there would be other bad times. Nothing so bad as this, if he stayed on the wagon with her, but still dips into the darkness every now and then.

Her afternoon was quiet. Lonely. She wanted nothing more than for him to open his eyes and recognize her. That was all. Just to see that recognition and know that she was still welcome to be here, still expected to keep the promise she hadn't broken. But she knew she couldn't rush things. It would take a while for the morphine to leave his system, longer for him to wake up from the natural sleep. But she would be here. So she stayed. She paced. She read to him from his own book. She talked to him about how wonderful things would be from here on in. She gave him a running commentary on how disgusting the hospital food was, and made another promise to make sure he got at least one good meal a day from somewhere not healthcare-related while he was in here. And finally, when the weight of waiting and worry became too much, she curled up in the chair beside his bed, her hand curled loosely in his, and slowly drifted off to sleep, hoping to see his smile when she woke up.

To Michael, it felt like he'd been sleeping for a million years - or like he'd been dead or hovering somewhere near death, between life and death, with no idea where he'd end up. His mind felt foggy, partly what remained of the morphine and partly just from being unconscious for he had no idea how long. The first thing he saw when he pried his eyes open and his vision cleared was the stark white ceiling over his head. He furrowed his brows as he forced his eyes elsewhere, taking in his surroundings, slowly realizing he was in a hospital bed somewhere, becoming aware of the IV needle that was stuck in his wrist and the warmth of soft fingers loosely clasping his hand.

He forced his head to turn to the side, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest to find the woman of his dreams sitting curled up beside him. He licked his lips, trying to force them to move. It felt like it had been forever since he'd been awake or had spoken to anyone. He tried to remember what had happened, but his memory was slow in returning.

To his eyes, newly opened and fresher than they had been before they'd closed, Elena looked tired. Dark bruises decorated the skin beneath her eyes, her hair in messy pigtails looking desperately in need of a wash. She clearly hadn't even made an effort with her clothes, snatching on what was comfortable in her haste to be close to him no matter what. As he watched her, she stirred just a little, and her fingers slid between his, curling tighter in a gentle grip that promised she still wasn't letting go. Just as she'd said that first night after he'd arrived ....even asleep, she wasn't leaving him.

He frowned at the dissheveled sight of the woman he loved - had been in love with for what seemed like most of his lifetime, as he searched his brain for any recollection of what had happened. His memory was slow to return, first recalling nightmares of some kind. He was smart enough to put two and two together - the hospital, the IV, the nightmares, his foggy brain, and her presence all coming together to fill in the blanks where his memory failed him, at least for now. He seemed to recall the sound of a siren, an ambulance more than likely; shouting voices he hadn't recognized; Elena's voice begging him not to leave her, promising she'd stay by his side.

Though his mind was hazy, it wasn't the same kind of alcohol haze he was used to. It was something else. Morphine, he thought, or some kind of pain killer. Something to take the pain away while he dried out. Christ, that must have been what had happened, he thought. He'd passed out and she'd called an ambulance to take him here. His mouth moved again as he tried to summon his voice.

There was a loud thump as her foot slipped, disgorging one boot onto the sterile floor in a clatter of sound that jolted her awake with a shock. She sat upright, blinking away the tiredness from her eyes, her gaze turning instinctively to his face. For a split second, she was blank, not quite taking in that his eyes were open, that he was looking at her ....and then she smiled, that special smile that had lit up entire towns via their televisions during her adolescence. The special smile that belonged to him, now. "Hey, baby," she murmured, not wanting to break the quiet too profoundly. "Long time, no see. Want a drink of something?"

What an ironic question to ask as soon as he awoke, but he answered it honestly, only wanting a sip of water to wet his lips and his parched throat. It took a minute for him to find his voice, which sound weak and faint. "Please," he replied faintly, hoping a little water would ease the dryness in his mouth and throat that the IV didn't seem to touch.

Reluctantly, Elena drew her hand from his, twisting half out of the chair to fumble with the jug that stood on the stand beside the bed. A moment later, she had a glass of water in her hand, carefully perching on the edge of the bed to ease an arm beneath his shoulders to help him sit up enough to sip as she held it to his lips.

Feeling weak, but not feeble, he lifted his head from the pillows and pushed himself up with her help, to take a small sip of water, followed by another deeper gulp, wetting his lips and mouth and throat. Once he felt he'd had enough, he nodded his head to let her know and settled himself back against the pillows, as best he could, so that he could have a better look at her.

She was careful with him, patient despite a sense of impatience. Now he was awake, she wanted to cover him with kisses, tell him over and again that she loved him, but even Elena knew that would be too much, too soon. She set the glass down again, helping to prop him with his pillows comfortably, and twisted to sit herself on the bed with him, facing him, her hands drawing his into her grasp once again. "It's so good to see you awake," she heard herself say, raising his fingers to her lips to kiss. "You had me worried for a while there."

He allowed her to prop him up, making no effort to resist, still feeling too weak and sleepy to put up any argument. He was awake for now, but his eyes felt heavy, like he might nod off at any minute without warning. It felt good to have her there with him, to know she'd stayed with him through all of it. Her touch, as gentle as it was, felt warm and reassuring, and he drew as much comfort from her presence as she did from his awakening. In all truth, he had no one but her. Everyone else in his life had lost faith in him and written him off as hopeless. "How long?" he asked, his voice slowly returning.

"Three days," she told him gently. "It's Saturday now, the 26th. You're in the hospital - Rhy'Din General. They, uh, they sedated you when you were brought in, and they've kinda been phasing it out over today." She reached out to stroke his cheek, drawing her fingertips along the line of his jaw. "Don't worry about falling asleep again. It's kinda natural, they said."

He allowed his eyes to drift closed a moment before forcing them open again. His mouth moved soundlessly a moment, forming a single word, before he realized what had happened as she filled him in on the events of the last and lost three days of his life. It was no wonder he felt dazed, drugged out of his mind for three days straight without food or drink, except for what could be provided via a tube. He licked his lips again, trying to tell her what he was feeling with his tear-filled eyes, rather than struggle with his voice. "El-" he started, unable to tell her how sorry he was and how grateful.

Her smile softened, one hand touching her fingers to his lips as she stilled the apology before it could be made vocal. "Doesn't matter," she assured him in a half-whisper. "The worst is over. It's mind over matter from here on in. You've beaten it." Her fingers squeezed his, mindful of the bandage that was all that remained of where the morphine drip had been cited. "They tested your blood today. There's nothing left in your system, and the doctor wants to talk to you about supplementing with some drug I didn't really get all the syllables for, to help with the cravings for another week or so. But that's your choice. Everything's your choice now. You're not gonna make yourself ill saying no anymore."

He heard everything she was telling him, but lacked the strength to acknowledge it. Maybe he'd remember, maybe he wouldn't. He was sure all that would be repeated over and over in the days to come, once he was more awake, more aware of his surroundings and situation. Right now, all he wanted was to tell her how much he loved her, how relieved he was that she hadn't given up on him, that she'd stayed, but he once again found, he lacked the voice to express himself properly. He found his throat suddenly choked with emotion, tears of relief brimming in his eyes, spilling over and wetting his face. "You stayed," he whispered, his voice quiet and hoarse but full of amazement.

"Oh, baby, don't cry ..." She leaned close, wiping his tears away with a soft thumb, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips as her own eyes filled with tears, not wanting to see him distressed by anything, even in happiness. "Of course I stayed," she whispered against his lips, drawing back just far enough to meet his eyes, willing him to see the clear sincerity in her gaze. "I love you." No, she had not intended to tell him so soon, but it felt right. Her fragile, bruised heart had latched onto him, and his amazement that she had held to her promise made her wish for some way to reassure him that she was never going to break it. "I do. I love you, Michael."

Her declaration of love did nothing to stop the flow of tears, only causing him to feel even more emotionally fragile than ever, his heart swelling with unending love for the woman he'd loved for so long, but had never thought could be his. He reached for her needing to feel her close, to feel her arms around him, to know all of this was real and not some figment of a drug-laden imagination. "Elena," he whispered, his voice breaking. He'd wept in her presence once before, when he'd been at the end of his rope, fearing he wouldn't survive, but the tears he wept now were tears of relief and of pure joy, the likes of which he never thought possible. He drew a shaky breath, exhaling the words she had just said to him, the words he'd wished to hear from her for so long. "I love you."

"It's real," she murmured as he drew her into his arms, knowing a little of what he must be thinking in the haze of waning sedatives. "It's really real. I didn't want to tell you before, I didn't think you'd believe me, but I love you. And I'm so sorry I did things wrong the first time. I'll get it right this time, I promise."

He just held her close for a while, needing to feel her close, needing to let the tears cleanse his soul and leave his heart feeling like it was ready to give her the love that she so deserved, to be the man she needed him to be. He pulled gently away, once the tears had washed away a little of the pain, and wiped his face dry, blue eyes still swimming with tears as he looked back at her, his feelings raw and bare, like he was wearing his heart on his sleeve. "I'm sorry," he stammered, feeling the need to apologize, not just for what he'd put her through these last few days but for all the pain and anguish he'd ever caused her, from the first day they'd met.

She lay against him as long as she dared, nestled close until she thought he might have begun to struggle under her weight, slight though it was. Drawing back, she was smiling through the tears, wiping her face dry, wiping his face dry, kissing him softly once again. "Don't be," she told him, her voice cracked and shaken, but oddly lighter than she had felt in months, years. "Everything - everything - that's happened brought us here, and I wouldn't change this for the world. You're the best thing to ever happen to me, Michael."

He shook his head lightly, not because he didn't believe her, but because the exact opposite was true. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he needed her to know that. It wasn't just a matter of him being hopelessly in love with her, though there was that. It had been, in all reality, a matter of life or death. She had been there for him when no one else had; she had believed in him. If it hadn't been for her, he knew in his heart he would not have survived. Nothing could stop them now. Nothing. They had faced a trial by fire and survived together. "Thank you," he whispered through his tears, thanking her for everything, the words horribly inadequate to describe what he was feeling. His eyes were growing heavy again, even as he tried to fight the weariness that was overcoming him. "Always, Elena. You and me....Always." His eyelids fluttered as he struggled against sleep, losing the fight.

"Always," she whispered in return, leaning close to him as he drifted off into his own, natural sleep, unable to keep herself from touching his face, his lips, laying her palm over his heart. Gentle hands drew the sheets higher over him, and she laid a soft kiss to his brow, sliding from the bed to curl up in the chair once again. He loves me. He couldn't have given her a greater gift than that, the sweetness of having that fragile, frightening emotion returned. She was his now, as much as he was hers, and she would be here again when he awoke, ready to stand by him still. The worst was over; the best was yet to come.