sealie

Rating: G?
Spoilers: 7.22
Notes: unbeated and Kristen999 promised me Pinot grigio
Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.

Just staying on the floor.
By sealie

Steve stared up at the ceiling. It was a very nice ceiling. White-ish, a few girders, and more than a few spiders’ webs. The windows needed a good clean. Why was the sun shining? There were grey clouds at the edges, rolling over the ceiling.

He looked at the insides of his eyelids for a long while. Unconsciousness, not quite, more like a rest as he worked on getting his breath back. He was breathing pretty shallowly, because his ribs hurt like a motherfucker.

Being shot at close range had a tendency to bruise ones ribs. He cackled inwardly at the mock-BBC announcer’s voice echoing in his head. Concussions were always weird. Punched in the head. Punched in the kidneys. Punched in the face. Half-suffocated. Why were people invested in suffocating him?

At least this time it hadn’t been water torture.

That was something.

He decided to lie on the floor for the rest of his life.

The floor was surprisingly comfortable.

Don’t forget the bomb, and the explosion, and the roof – falling off the roof.

Steve was seriously just staying on the floor.

Floors were safer.

“Babe!”

“Steve?”

“Steven!”

The voice sounded concerned, worried, even as Steve was yelled at.

Oh, Danny.

Calloused fingers pressed against his jugular.

“Thank fuck.”

Oh, he was alive. Good.

More fingers skirted over his skull pressing carefully, scooping down behind his ears, and gently skimming over the base of his skull. The pressure was kind of relaxing.

“I need EMTs,” Danny was saying.

Gentle fingers brushed his eyelashes. Steve kind of expected to see a bright light as his eyelid was peeled back. Nothing. He figured his eyes had rolled back in his head. Probably for the best, he was enjoying just breathing, and the sun was bright.

Click. Click. Click and click, and the fasteners on his tactical vest were released.

“Where are my frikkin’ medics? I’m in the warehouse. Jerry give them our coordinates. I know that you have us lojacked.”

Danny sounded concerned.

Perhaps he should acknowledge, react, speak or something? At this precise moment he wasn’t in pain and he liked that space.

His abdomen was palpitated.

“Geez, what a bruise,” Danny groused. The touch ghosted over the painful rib, directly over where the round had hit.

He should possibly wake up before Danny undid his pants.

“Steve. Steve. For the Love of God--” Danny beseeched. “Wake up, please.”

Danny was worried.

Steve twitched and his body woke with him. He hissed a sharp, short breath between his teeth, and out, breathing through the pain. Hands cupped his face.

“Stay still, Steve. Stay still. Medics are coming. Medics better be damn well coming.”

Steve opened his eyes. Danny hung above him, eyes impossibly blue in a red, flushed face.

“There you are,” Danny said, his voice just like he was talking to Charlie. He smiled. “Hey. You were worrying me.”

Danny looked stressed. But his eyes were bright and clear. There was no blood on his face.

“Steve, say something,” Danny ordered.

“Danno.” Steve tasted blood when he smiled.

“Doofus.”

“I love you too.”

“Banana.” Danny pressed his forehead against Steve’s and simply breathed. “Banana.”

Steve was happy to lie there, under the capable hands of Danny, breathing with him slow and sure.

“Detective Williams?” a voice shouted.

Danny lifted away. “Over here. We’re over here!”

Steve missed his warmth, missed his touch, and missed his presence. He raised his hand, questing. Danny caught his fingers, gripping hard.

“The medics are here. Behave.” Danny shifted to the side, but kept a hold of his hand and the EMTs descended.

Fin.