Always been You

by Mia Scott

  "Sarah!" James sighed, cocking his head to the side.

  "What? It's true," she snapped indignantly. "Don't get me wrong, I'm completely thrilled that he's okay, but he told me I was a train wreck—not cool. Besides, he'd want to see Alisha first anyway. I'm gonna go call Ma and let her know how he's doing." With a tight-lipped smile, she clutched her cell phone and walked away from the group.

  James frowned. He'd known Sarah her entire life and she was every ounce as stubborn as her big brother. He knew when to cut his losses. "Alisha, go on in. I'll call the guys at the station."

  She felt Maggie squeeze her hand reassuringly. "Good luck. I'll bring your clothes when Russell arrives."

  "Thanks, Fabs," Alisha said.

  She ignored the strange looks from the nurses (Yeah, her coat didn't cover up the costume that well—she was aware, thanks. And sure, she had about ten pounds of stage makeup on. Whatever.) and proceeded down the hall towards his room. Pausing briefly outside his door, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves and walked quietly into the dimly lit space.

  He didn't greet her when she entered. In fact, the only sounds in the room were the quiet whirring and beeping of the machine monitoring his vitals. She stepped closer to the bed and saw that his eyes were closed; his handsome face was marred with various bruises and scratches and he sported a large bandage over his right eyebrow.

  It was silly (she thought), but he seemed smaller to her somehow lying in that hospital bed. She was certain it was because she'd never seen him vulnerable before. Her heart ached at first, but then she reminded herself that he would make a full recovery. (and it could have been so much worse) Though she half expected for him to sit up in the bed and spout off something horribly inappropriate and mildly (wholly) offensive.

  (She found she really wanted him to)

  Pulling up a chair, she sat beside his bed and reached for his hand, gently holding it between hers and occasionally stroking indiscriminate patterns with her finger.

  Alisha wasn't sure how long she sat like that, just holding his hand and watching him sleep. (Seconds? Minutes? An hour?) But eventually she felt his hand stir between hers and heard the deep groan rumbling in his chest. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the bed and watched his eyes slowly blink open and survey his surroundings. He turned his head and his eyes settled on her face. "Hi," she whispered, still holding his hand.

  Big's eyelids felt like they weighed a metric ton and he struggled to focus. "S'a good dream," he said groggily. And it was. (had to be) Alisha was in her hot as fuck Velma costume and she was smiling at him. Either it was a dream, or he was on some fucking damn good drugs.

  Her lips twitched into a smirk and she laughed softly. "You're not dreaming, Jake," she murmured.

  He blinked again, felt like he was trying to surface from miles Beneath the sea as he attempted to focus on her face. "Lisha?" His throat felt as dry as the Sahara.

  "I'm here."

  "This morning—my sister," he managed before he started coughing. "Fuck that hurts," he groaned, squeezing his eyes tight.

  "Shh, shh, shh," she pressed her index finger over his lips and hit his morphine button for him. "I know. Sarah told me everything. Just rest."

  He had more he wanted to say, but sleep was so enticing. "Stay."

  "I'm not going anywhere, Jake. Just get some rest. We'll figure everything out later."

  "Yeah?" he asked with a sleepy, crooked grin.

  Even lying in a hospital bed he managed to be sexy. Alisha nodded as a smile stretched across her face. She pushed to her feet and dropped a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth (the only part of his face that wasn't mottled by cuts or purple bruising). "Sleep," she ordered quietly.

  "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, closing his eyes.

  She sat with him until his breathing evened out again.

  Alisha slipped quietly from his room and bumped into James. "Oh, I'm sorry, James," she apologized.

  "Don't be. Here," he said, thrusting a bag into her arms. "Russell brought it."

  "Thank you," she smiled gratefully. She couldn't wait to put on normal clothes, so people would stop staring at her. (and she'd be a thousand times more comfortable)

  "How's he doing?" he asked, nodding towards Big's room.

  "Groggy," she sighed. "He looks terrible—and I know it could have been just so much worse, but still, he's pretty banged up."

  James hung his head, guilt pouring over him. "I'm sorry. I should've—" the voice cracked as it trailed off.

  Alisha frowned. "James, stop it; please. This is not your fault. He's going to be fine. Why don't you go sit with him? I'm going to get cleaned up." She offered him an encouraging smile and turned to walk away.

  "Hey, Lisha?"

  "Yes?"

  "He went after you today, you know—after Sarah—well, you know, was Sarah. He was on his way to the theater when he got called in."

  A weird mix of guilt and happiness settled in the pit of her stomach. She didn't know what else to do other than to nod and murmur a "Thanks, James," before hurrying away in the opposite direction.

  James walked into the room and occupied the chair Alisha had recently vacated. He felt so guilty seeing his best friend in that damn hospital bed. He should have kept this from happening somehow. Remaining silent for a long time, he finally cleared this throat and tried to find the right words.

  "Big, man, I'm so sorry," he told his sleeping friend. "I should've had your back in there today and I—fuck, I really let you down. You're my partner and my best friend and I should've been watching. I should have known that beam wasn't stable. I should have been there. You would have seen that and had my back." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Fuck, dude—I'm just so damn sorry."

  "You're such a fucking pussy, Keller," Big croaked, arching a brow in James's direction. He tried to grin, but the split on his lip burned and he hissed in protest.

  James felt his face grow hot and he scratched the stubble on his cheek. "Er, um—sorry, I thought you were asleep."

  Big chuckled slightly, not wanting to press his luck or test the limits of his pain medicine just yet. "I should fucking hope so because saying that shit to me while I'm awake ain't kosher, dude."

  He took in James's frown and creased eyes. Well, hell. He was worried about him. "Keller, knock it off or I'll kick your ass as soon as I'm outta this joint. It's not your fucking fault that I got hurt." Big shot him an I-mean-business look, but he wasn't too sure he pulled it off. He had a feeling the hospital bed sorta detracted from his badassness. (James's dry laugh all but confirmed it. Fuck!)

  "Yeah, alright," he drawled sarcastically. "Just glad you're gonna be okay. I've gotten used to you after all these years—don't have the time or energy to break in a new best friend."

  Big smirked. That was much better than the queer shit he was spewing earlier. He heard a faint knock on the door and Alisha poked her head in through the door, looking like herself again. "Hey," he greeted.

  "I thought I told you to get some sleep," she said, a smile flirting over her lips.

  "I was," Big defended, "until James here came in and started blubbering like a vagina and woke me up."

  "That's my cue," James announced. "Get better, dickhead."

  "Thanks, bro."

  Alisha shook her head, a crooked smile on her face and walked over to the bed, sitting down gingerly beside him. She waved goodbye to James and turned back to Jake, who was looking up at her with heavy eyes. "You look terrible," she sighed.

  "Fuck, Larrington, don't sugar coat it," he groaned, closing his eyes. (Though he was sure he looked as bad as he felt she didn't need to point it out.)

  She dropped her forehead to his. "Jake," she breathed, letting their closeness soothe her frayed nerves. "You scared me."

  He ran his hand up her arm and tried to laugh it off. "Shoulda listened to you though, Lisha—you warned me about those tall trees." Alisha pulled back and frowned down at him; her brows creased together and her eyes
went shiny. (Shit) "I'm—you were really worried." (It wasn't a question)

  Alisha nodded softly, and felt the stinging in her eyes again. (She didn't let them fall) "Yeah," she replied quietly.

  Big swallowed thickly against the strange lurching in his chest. "Even after everything?" That idea sort of blew his mind left him a little speechless. (and a lot hopeful)

  "Yes. Don't you get it?" she asked softly. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. "You're important to me, Jake."

  "Alisha," he murmured, a slight smile on his lips. "C'mere." He wanted (needed) to kiss her right then and split lip be damned, he was going to. She leaned down but he didn't have the energy to meet her in the middle. "Gotta help me out here, Shorty," he rasped.

  God, he was cute. She grinned and lowered her lips until they gently pressed against his. Her eyes fell closed against the kiss. After last night she wasn't sure she'd get a chance to kiss him again (and especially not after this morning); she was so glad that wasn't the case now.

  "Lisha," he said when she pulled away. "There's stuff I want to talk about…" he could barely keep his eyes open. "But, fuck all, I'm tired."

  "It's all right, Jake, you need to rest," she insisted, cupping the side of his face. "Do you need anything?"

  "Just stay," he told her, laying his hand on top of hers.

  "Okay," she nodded, moving off the bed. She paused when his hand tightened around her wrist.

  "No, I mean get in bed with me," he said sleepily.

  Despite the droopy eyes, the look on his face was purely rakish. "No," she answered, biting back a smile.

  "You're gonna deny me? I almost died today."

  "Jake," Alisha admonished, "That's not funny." Her eyes welled up instantly.

  The tears in her eyes made him feel like an ass. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

  "I'll stay, but I'm sleeping in this chair."

  "Don't be retarded, Alisha," he sighed. "Just get in."

  "There's not enough room," she argued.

  "Fuck that. You're tiny. C'mon…I'll sleep better." He gave her what he thought was a sad puppy dog look. When that didn't work he added "Please?"

  "All right, Jake," she conceded, toeing off her shoes. "But if the nursing staff gets mad, I'm blaming you."

  "Deal," he smirked to the best of his ability, but the drugs and the exhaustion were rapidly taking hold of him. He noticed her studying him and the bed. "What?" She turned worried brown eyes to him.

  "I don't want to hurt you," she said in a tiny voice.

  "You won't—I'm on some fucking sweet drugs." He pressed the button again for a morphine boost. "See?"

  "Jake," she sighed, exasperated, her eyes falling closed.

  "You can sleep on my right side," he answered seriously. "Those ribs aren't broken." He noticed her hesitation again. "Please, Alisha."

  It was the please that got her. That and the soft look in his eyes. "Promise me if you wake up and you're uncomfortable you'll tell me to get up. It won't hurt my feelings."

  He nodded wordlessly and shifted his body closer to the other side of the bed. He grimaced and swore sharply when pain shot through his chest and side. "M'okay," he muttered, gritting his teeth until the worst of the pain ebbed away.

  She shook her head, knowing he wasn't even in the vicinity of okay; but she also knew better than to argue with him right now because he needed his rest. At the very least she could lie with him until he fell asleep and then slip away so he'd be more comfortable. "You're not a very good liar," she mumbled, pulling back the blanket and carefully climbing into the bed beside him. She rolled onto her side and tucked a hand under her cheek and looked at him.

  "Wasn't so hard now was it?" he asked, casting a sideways glance in her direction.

  She tipped her head back and pressed a kiss just below his earlobe, lingering there for a moment. "I'm really happy that you're (we're) okay," she murmured against his skin.

  Big twined his fingers through hers and squeezed gently. "Thanks, babe."

  And for the first time all day, as he slipped into sleep, he felt at peace.

  Chapter 20

  When he opened his eyes the next morning, he was alone in his hospital bed and there was no sign of Alisha anywhere. He wondered, as he inhaled deeply (big mistake) and swore sharply against the stab of pain, if he'd hallucinated her appearance altogether. (What? Morphine was some trippy shit, okay?)

  His whole body hurt, which he supposed was par for the course when a fucking ceiling collapsed on you and rendered you trapped for awhile Beneath a heavy ass beam. Groping for his happy button, he pressed the plunger and didn't hear a beep. Trying again, he met the same result. "The fuck?" he grumbled, dropping it back onto the scratchy blanket. What was the motherfucking point of having the morphine button to dull the pain if it was gonna run the fuck out? "Fucking hospitals."

  And now he had to piss something fierce. So he used the invalid buttons (as he called them; and don't think that didn't piss him the fuck off to have to use 'em) on the bed to raise him up. He may have been a badass, but he wasn't a dumbass; he knew better than to try and sit up on his own just yet. ('specially if they were cutting him off the happy drugs already) Managing to stand up out of bed (exerting way more effort than expected) he carefully made it to the adjacent bathroom.

  Switching on the fluorescent light, he lowered his lashes against the brightness, allowing his eyes to adjust. Then he looked into the mirror. The reflection was worse than he thought it'd be. Dark bruises and what seemed like a thousand cuts and scrapes covered most of his face. Curious over what was lurking behind the bandage taped to his forehead, he gripped the cheap porcelain sink and leaned in for a closer look. He carefully peeled off the tape and lifted up the gauze, revealing a two-inch gash over his eyebrow that had been stitched multiple times.

  He looked like shit.

  (Felt like it, too.)

  When he came out again, the door to his room opened and in walked Alisha, wearing the same NYU t-shirt and black yoga pants he remembered from the night before and her hair swept up into a messy ponytail. (She was a sight for sore eyes) "Hey," he said, his voice thick and gravelly.

  "Hi," Alisha replied softly, closing the door behind her.

  "Thought I hallucinated you last night," he smiled wanly.

  Her lips quirked up a little. "No, I was here. You look better today."

  Big cocked an eyebrow and stared at her incredulously. "I look like shit," he grumbled, sitting carefully down on the bed. (He wondered how to get back in bed without wincing and looking like a complete fucking pussy. Not that he thought she'd judge, but shit.)

  "You look better," she repeated, dropping her coat and the bag she was carrying onto a chair. She pulled back the blankets to help him. "I had James get some things from your apartment. I figured you'd be more comfortable in sweats and t-shirts than a hospital gown."

  "Yeah?" (She was awesome.) "Thanks, Lisha."

  "You're welcome." Her eyes never left his as she helped him get situated. But she didn't miss the beads of sweat that popped on his forehead nor the clenching of his jaw as he attempted to push his body further up on the bed.

  (She didn't comment either.)

  "I also had him grab your iPod and some magazines. I didn't know how long you're going to be here, but I didn't want you to get bored." After another grimace, she couldn't keep quiet any longer (you know, about his injuries). "My goodness, Jake, hit the button."

  "It's empty," he gruffly replied. "I think they cut me off."

  "That's absurd," she shook her head, hitting the call button on his bed. "You just had surgery last night."

  "What are you doing?"

  "Getting the nurse."

  "Yes?" came the voice through the speaker.

  "This patient is need of pain medication," Alisha informed authoritatively.

  "I'll send a nurse in," was the reply.

  "You didn't have to do that, ya know," Big told her. (He wasn't sorry though that she had.)

  "And y
ou don't have to pretend you're not in pain. You were all about the 'sweet drugs' last night," she said, making quotes with her fingers for emphasis.

  Big rolled his eyes and smirked. "Stop busting' my balls, Larrington. Sit," he said, patting the mattress.

  Alisha eased down onto the bed beside him. "Sorry," she huffed out. "I switch into overdrive in times like these."

  "S'ok," he said with a bleary grin. "It's pretty hot that you're taking care of me."

  She smiled then. "You're incorrigible," she sighed, reaching out to gently stroke the side of his face.

  "Lean down, I got something to tell you."

  There was a mischievous gleam in his tired eyes and she fought off the grin that threatened to split her face in half. (Oh, this man) She leaned down slightly and arched a brow at him, knowing he'd tell her to lean in further still.

  "Shorty, c'mon," he all but whined.

  She giggled before carefully covering his lips with hers.

  "I don't need to knock, Sarah, I'm his mother," Rosemary Biggerman's voice sounded as she burst into Big's room. "Jake, sweetie, Mama's here. What the hell is this?" she snapped.

  Alisha jerked back, her eyes rounding as she looked down at Big in a panic; he groaned (whether it was from pain or annoyance she wasn't sure).

  "Ma, the fuck are you doing here?" Big grumbled, his head pressing back into the pillow. His hand rested comfortably on Alisha's thigh.

  "Jake Ishmael Biggerman, don't you talk to me like that. I hopped on the first flight I could get because I was so worried about you and this is the greeting I get?"

  Fucking Christ. His mother really should come equipped with a mute button. He slanted his eyes towards Alisha. She looked like she was about to bust a gut from holding in a laugh.

  "Ishmael?" she whispered, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "So that's what the I stands for." (She'd guessed Ian; he didn't correct her.)

  "Shut it, Shorty," he said grumpily.

  "And who's this that's kissing all over you while you should be resting?" Rosemary demanded, fisting her hands on her hips.