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The first thing Dani knows is that it hurts.
It’s not the most intelligent observation, but it’s the truest. Wildfires dance over her ribs, carving in the flesh and bone in fiery agony that burns like acid in the back of her throat and stings her eyes until tears trickle down her cheeks that she doesn’t mean to let fall. She sucks in a deep breath on reflex and that only makes it worse; sharp, shooting pains racing through her left side like a knife between her ribs.
She wants to scream, but she’s smarter than that. Knows it’ll only make it worse, knows that it won’t help her get a grip on the pain.
Besides, Bright’s doing more than enough screaming for both of them. Watching your girlfriend get hit by a suspect’s car will do that to you, she supposes.
Her eyes are getting heavy, dangerously so. Don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep... that’s what Bright will say when he finally gets to her. Time is slowing down and it feels like he’s racing to her in slow motion, swimming through a sea of molasses to fight his way to her side. Her head is swimming too, floating, slow, dizzy, lazy, refusing to set itself straight. Her vision blurs before her eyes and she can’t tell if it’s because of the tears or if it’s another concussion nipping at her heels. Don’t fall asleep, don’t fall asleep, wait for the CT, don’t fall asleep…
At least wait for Bright. Don’t fall asleep until you see Bright.
She fights it, she does. As hard as she can. But lead weights tug her eyelids closed and Bright is still ten feet back and still screaming when everything dissipates into a clean white mist and then into nothingness.
The good news is that she can sleep. She still knocked her head hard enough to make Bright fuss over her like her mother and to get a gentle but stern talking-to from an elderly nurse who stitched up the gash on her forehead, but she can sleep.
Dani prays she can. But even dosed up on painkillers - not good ones, she wouldn’t let them give her anything other than Tylenol, shied away from needles, gripped Bright’s hand and made him promise, made him swear to God, made him swear on her life he wouldn’t let them give her anything - the pain is something else. Broken ribs . A lot of them.
She’s lucky it’s not worse. But even with Bright’s arm around her waist to help her walk, a few steps are too much for her and she sinks against him, clinging futilely to his strong arm and turning her aching head into his shoulder.
He presses a kiss to her forehead and eases her down on the closest park bench; he’s good like that. The wood slats don’t make much of a bed so she leans against him instead, as much of herself as she can fit against his wiry frame. His hand finds hers, holds it tight, smooths his thumb over hers in that gentle stroking motion that cuts all her strings and leaves her slumped against him. She gives into it readily, hides her face in the crook of his neck and lets her eyes fall shut. She feels him press another kiss, this time into her curls, feels his arm dig into his pocket as carefully as he can, desperate not to disturb her. Calling a taxi, or maybe Gil to pick them up.
It feels like seconds or maybe hours that she lays half-slumped against Bright on a dirty New York bench, but finally he moves away from her, places an apologetic kiss on her temple, feather-light, barely a brush of his lips against her skin, and helps her to stand. She sways before she’s even half-upright, but he’s ready for it, his hands on her hips holding her steady. It’s a taxi, she realizes, clocking in on a nearby smear of yellow in her blurry vision.
Bright gives an address to the driver but Dani forgets to listen to it. She melts back into him as soon as he sinks into the seat beside her, and she can’t quite fall asleep but she’s out of it enough that the New York streets blur out the windows and the smell of his cologne and the softness of his suit are the only things that are real. His hand goes to her hair, slowly stroking her curls back, careful to avoid the line of neat sutures.
She’s half-asleep by the time the taxi crawls to a stop, unable to fully slip away because of the pain in her ribs. Bright wakes her up with another kiss to her temple, his hands going to her waist to help her out of the cab. She looks up hazily - Bright’s loft. And the stairs... fewer than there would be at her apartment, she’s on the sixth floor and the elevator’s out, but still... stairs…
He wraps an arm around her waist and they make it up the first flight like that, but as hard as she fights it, tears trickle down her cheeks and a little cry bursts from her mouth. Without asking - most likely because he knows she’ll never cave, her pride won’t allow that - he bends down and scoops her up. She wraps her arms around his neck to help support herself, but it’s easier for him than she’d imagined it would be - he’s slender but strong, firm muscles under her hands rippling as he starts up the stairs again.
Finally, finally, they’re in the peace and privacy of his penthouse loft. He makes straight for the bed, kneeling down to ease her transition onto the sheets. Dani falls back against them, seeking out one of his pillows to hug to her ribs. She finds one and draws it close, wincing at the added pressure on her chest. Above her, Bright disentangles himself, starts to pull away.
Of course. He’s never shared a bed with her. They’ve certainly been in bed together - almost every night, but as soon as they’re done, as soon as her eyes start to get heavy, as soon as the tension drains from her muscles, he slips away to sleep on the couch. Dani offers every day to take the couch instead; it’s not fitted with his restraints, it’s not the most comfortable, and she feels like she’s evicting him in his own home. But he won’t hear of it. And he won’t stay with her, either. He insists he’s too afraid of hurting her. Like she can’t take the pain. Like he could hit her hard enough to hurt her.
Dani’s been struck before in her life. She knows what it feels like for a blow to truly hurt. And Bright doesn’t have it in him to hurt her, not really.
Her hand finds his. Holds him close. “Stay.”
“Dani, I-” He hesitates. His hand is trying to tremble in hers and she squeezes down to stop it.
“Bright. Please.”
Slowly, reluctantly, he quits resisting. He sinks down next to her, and his weight is enough to drop the mattress beneath her. He found time to change; she must have been reminiscing longer than she thought. Soft cotton brushes her cheek as she turns to lay half on top of him, her curls falling over her ear and into her face. He runs a hand down her back, careful not to snag it on her bandages.
“Thank you,” she manages to breathe, before sleep finally crashes down over her like a wave, swallowing her up in its wake.