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It’s perfect.
Colt’s kissing Jody, he has the recorded confession, Gail and Ryder are in an actively crashing helicopter—it’s perfect. He feels like he’s on top of the world.
He’s also about two seconds away from puking everywhere.
He’d really rather not do that—he wants to stay in this moment with Jody forever—but as the adrenaline slowly ebbs away he becomes more and more aware of how much his body hurts. It’s like every injury he’s been ignoring comes back with a vengeance to make their presence known; his head hurts, his leg hurts, his back hurts—god his back hurts. He definitely hasn’t been keeping up with his PT exercises while on Ryder’s trail, which he’s going to regret for the next month because ow. He’s been running on fumes for days—literally, since he’s pretty sure he swallowed some gasoline the previous night. Now he’s finally crashing, and there’s no mat to soften the fall this time.
But all of that can wait, because here with Jody is perfect.
Jody breaks away from the kiss first, because it definitely isn’t going to be Colt.
“Oh my god, Colt. That was terrifying!” Her hands fall away from his face as she looks up at him with wide eyes, which is a shame because he wants her to keep touching him forever. She grabs onto his shirt instead, clenching the fabric in her fists like he might disappear. She still seems a little panicked, and he reaches up to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear as it had flown loose in the wind.
“I’m fine,” he says, automatic as always, though the words taste sour in his mouth. Jody rolls her eyes and whacks him in the chest, and he can’t quite hide his wince as she hits a bruise—that’s not her fault, every inch of him is bruised.
“Are you alright?” She asks, because of course she notices his reaction. He opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off before he can say anything. “And don’t you dare lie to me right now, Colt Seavers,” she warns, glaring at him.
“…it might be nice to sit down,” he admits. She smiles, and he forgets all about his injuries—it’s worth telling the truth if she’s going to look at him like that.
They struggle off the air bag hand in hand, and Colt’s glad he can blame his wobbliness on the bag instead of the fact that the world won’t stay still around him. His right knee twinges every time he puts weight on it, his ribs hurt if he breathes too deeply, and his head pounds in time with his heartbeat. He’s used to the pain that comes from stunts, but god if it doesn’t hurt every time.
“My man!” Dan’s waiting for them at the edge of the bag with a giant grin. “That was one hell of a fall.” They clasp hands, and Colt lets Dan pull him the last few feet off the bag and into a one-armed hug. He doesn’t wince when Dan holds on a little too tight, even though his back twinges in protest. He’s good at that.
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Colt says, and it’s true. He can’t do any of his stunts without a team—he tried that with the boat, and look where that got him. Presumed dead and blamed for a murder.
“How are you doing after all of that?” Dan asks, eyeing Colt critically.
“I feel like a million bucks,” Colt says easily—a million bucks that have been thrown around, shot at, beaten up, and nearly exploded. But he and Jody are back together, so really nothing else matters.
Dan grins. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He cheers, and claps Colt on the shoulder.
Colt doesn’t feel his legs give out, but the next thing he knows he’s lying flat on his back staring up at the sky. Huh.
The sky gets blocked by Jody’s face—which is a lot nicer to look at, so he’s not going to complain. Especially since the sun seems determined to stab him in the eyeballs with its blinding light. The ground isn’t the most comfortable thing to lie on, and he swears the sharpest rocks in the whole valley are under his back, digging into scar tissue and oversensitive nerve endings.
“-olt? Colt? Shit, someone get the medic!” Dan shouts.
“‘m fine,” Colt mumbles, giving a lazy thumbs up with the hand not still clutching Ryder’s confession. The movement hurts, the muscles in his back twinging in protest at just raising his arm, which doesn’t bode well for any future movement.
“Colt,” Jody warns. Her hands frame his face, touching gently like she’s worried he’s going to break. She looks scared. He never wants to scare her, and he remembers how nice it felt when she smiled at him earlier, so he reconsiders his response.
“I could use a little help,” he admits.
Dan helps him sit up, which hurts but is surprisingly manageable; maybe that’s just because Jody doesn’t leave his side. No one wants him to stand again even though he totally could, so they wait for the EMT to reach them instead. Gotta love the set EMT’s. He’s visited their tent more times than he can count.
“Where’re Gail and Ryder?” Colt asks, glancing up at the sky where the helicopter is suspiciously absent.
“They’re taken care of,” Jody says. An explosion sounds off in the distance, and Colt snorts—fucking actors.
The EMT shows up and tells him in no uncertain terms that he’s going to the hospital. Colt argues the whole time he gets loaded into the ambulance.
“I’m fine, okay? Give me an ice pack and a dark place to lie down for two or three days, and I’ll be back on set!” As often as he visits the set EMT’s, he really tries to avoid getting all the way to the hospital. He really hates hospitals. He’s spent enough time in them, okay?
“You’re going to the hospital,” Jody says, no-nonsense as she climbs into the ambulance next to him. He wants to complain more, but she gives him that look and he immediately caves. “And I swear to god if you try and push me away again I’ll kill you for real,” she threatens.
“Alright, alright,” Colt sighs—he knows she’s not kidding.
She smiles at him again, then leans over to kiss him—a quick kiss this time, because the EMT gets in the way to check him for a concussion and all that other fun stuff. Colt lets them, mostly because Jody glares at him every time he tries to insist he’s fine, and he supposes he can tolerate people hovering over him as long as Jody stays by his side.