the sound of love. [dylan]

[LESLIE DEVON]

A few years ago, she'd been getting a phone call around this time of year. There would be an officer on the phone and they would be explaining to her that she needed to get to her father's home immediately for an emergency because he had just passed away. Without even thinking twice, she had gotten in the first taxi and made it there so fast, she didn't even know such speed was humanly possible. Now, she was sitting over at the station catching up on some paper work. She'd been feeling off lately, mostly sick and a bit dizzy but she figured it was the side effects of the medicine her doctor (and old fling) had given her for the pain from her shoulder where it was finally somewhat healing. Every now and again, she had to go get it re patched because her and Dylan would...get a little carried away...and they'd open up again. It was this cycle of making love, playing video games, going to work, and watching games that she'd come to the conclusion she should buy a pregnancy test. Leslie never saw herself as the motherly type. Yeah she took care of Dylan and their old mutual friends and she had basically been a mother to her own father but dealing with an actual child? She never really dealt with babies before. She had no siblings, no extended family she knew of other than an uncle somewhere in Louisiana. So she checked, after last night, and the pretty pink plus said a big affirmative to her beliefs. Of course she couldn't tell Dylan yet-not until she was absolutely sure with her doctor first.

But then she'd gotten the phone call. She was sitting at her desk, fingers aching from clacking away on her keyboard. He'd gone on patrol and she stayed behind to help catch both of them up on their paper work since they'd been so absorbed with each other-they tended to forget the world still went on around them. Like just last night when they'd made love in the back of the police cruiser. It had been interesting to say the least but she had more than enjoyed herself. But the phone call...her mind had been on that night when she'd gotten the phone call. That dreaded, awful phone call she thought she would never have to get again after her father committed suicide.

Rushing out of the police station, she got into the police cruiser and breaking more traffic laws than necessary and abusing all her law enforcement powers, she made it to the hospital where she saw them taking Dylan in on a stretcher. He looked like he wasn't responding and there was so much blood...For a second she thought she was in the Middle East again dealing with everyone around her getting shot and trying to keep the ones alive still breathing. The dirty blond reached his side and protested when the doctors tried pulling her away from him, "Dylan? Dylan, baby, you have to wake up," she was trying to remain calm but she was crying. She hated crying but she was so scared...She didn't know how she'd handle not having Dylan in her life again after everything they'd just been through. And he'd been getting better with his alcohol addiction (as far as she could tell). He was becoming the person he wanted to be, would be proud to be, and she didn't want any of it gone so quickly. He was a good man. Yeah he made mistakes but who didn't? As the doctors continued yelling at her to let them do their job, she yelled out, "Baby you have to stay awake! You have to be okay!" and a doctor grabbed her firmly with two others as the quickly rushed him away and she was left standing in her uniform in the lobby with people trying to get her to calm down and reminding her she was still in uniform and needed to compose herself.

Fuck the uniform. It could burn in hell for all she cared. This uniform was why he was currently bloody and a hopeless wreck.

It took a couple hours before she was finally allowed to see him in the Intensive Care Unit and she didn't leave his side once other than when asked to by one of the doctors or nurses. She had pulled a chair up right next to him and laced her fingers into his own that wouldn't squeeze back. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. She gently smoothed his hair back a bit as she looked at his face and how calm and peaceful yet haggard it looked. Exhausted, shocked. He was strong-he'd pull through. They said he stabilized-he just needed to wake up, "Babe," she spoke quietly. It was one in the morning and the room was dark save for the small lamp on the opposite side of the bed, "Listen to me, okay?" she gave his hand a gentle squeeze, "You have to wake up, alright? You're going to be a daddy so you have to wake up," she couldn't stop herself from tearing up, her eyes already rimmed red and puffy. Was she too late to tell him he was going to be a father? Maybe... The love of her life was sitting in a hospital bed looking like he was in a coma and was never going to wake up...

And all she could do was sit there and hope he'd wake up.

[graeson]

"DROP YOUR WEAPON! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM! PUT THE GUN DOWN NOW!"

Dylan had been on patrol when he had heard the gun shot followed by the screams for help. Of course he had rushed over, his sirens wailing and flashing. He was out on patrol while Leslie stayed behind at the station to file away some of their paperwork. They had gotten more than a little behind simply because they were busy learning one another all over again. Graeson couldn't complain, but he did feel bad that she was staying behind. He knew she hated paperwork just as much as he did but he had stayed behind yesterday to finish it. They were trading days and he was going to be more than thankful that they had traded this day. If he had known what was going to happen to him, he would have never wanted this to happen to her. He was glad it was him because he'd never forgive himself if it had been her. As he pulled up to the gas station that was being held up, he saw the large amount of blood on the front sidewalk. Pulling up, he used his radio to call in for back up.

There was no way he was going to be able to do this by himself, but he could access the situation at the moment. His crystal blue eyes snapped to attention as he tried seeing how many people were in the vicinity. He could count six civilians but he didn't know if one or more were armed. Furrowing his brow, he knew he was going to have to get out of the car. It wasn't the most intelligent thing to do simply because he didn't have his bulletproof vest, but he didn't have a choice. His job was to put his life on the line to protect the lives of others. He wasn't going to go back on his promise. He was changing, and he wasn't going to back out now. Besides, he saw someone injured being dragged into the back of the store that attached to the gas pumps. He wasn't going to make them suffer in fear. Calling in for a bus as well, he flung the door to his cop car open and used his car for a shield. That was when he saw the man sprinting, the gun flying in his moving hand.

That was when Dylan ordered the man to drop it, and that was when the man opened fire on him. Graeson hadn't been expecting that and he flinched as the top light to his cruiser was shot out. Swearing under his breath, he put an emergency back up call out and then watched the man disappear. He had to get to the civilians inside. Ducking to the best of his ability, he walked forward, prepared to offer himself to the victims inside. The man started screaming at him to stop and Graeson took one more step forward before halting. "Listen to me. Let them go. I'll let you take me instead. You can get a lot more with me for a hostage than for them." The man was thinking about it, and Graeson could see the fear in his eyes. That fear was going to be a lot harder to deal with than anger would have been. As the man raised his weapon once more, Graeson did his, ready to pull the trigger. He had been fired upon first so his actions were entirely justified. Praying there wasn't another fugitive inside the store, Graeson opened fire, doing his best to harm the man and not kill him.

His shot hit the mark, and the man went down, clutching his thigh. Graeson told him to stay on the ground but that was when everything changed. Back up started flying in at that exact moment, and the chaos seemed to explode. It was then that Dylan was aware of a stinging, burning sensation in his thigh. He felt like he had been shot. Blanching immediately, he looked down at his leg and saw the blood pooling where the bullet hole was. Gritting his teeth, he didn't want to admit to his fellow officers that he was wounded. Taking a step back, he found he couldn't bear weight on the leg. The bullet had shot straight through the bone, chipping it in the process. He stumbled, and that was when the worst shot came. He felt breathless and suddenly a cold feeling passed over him. He didn't even know what happened, but before he could do anything he was on the ground. The last thing he remembered were shots being fired and shouts surrounding him.

Graeson had been shot in the chest and it didn't look good. The bullet hadn't gone straight through and they needed to find it. He had passed out from the injuries and blood loss, and they had him at the hospital faster than anyone could blink. He didn't hear anything around him as they wheeled him in. His neck and jawline were covered in blood from the splatter from his chest wound, and his entire left thigh was covered in the crimson liquid. They had covered him with a blanket to try and hide the damage on the way into the hospital, but it was obvious he was in trouble. His pale face was turned to the side and covered in an oxygen mask. They were pumping medicine in him to fight infection. They wheeled him into surgery and immediately set to work on stabilizing him. It worked, and they were highly successful with it, but he was going to need a lot of physical therapy afterwards. Wheeling him into the ICU, they allowed his girlfriend into the room, instructing her to be more than careful with him now.

Graeson was out from the anesthesia, but he heard a voice and he wanted to respond to it. He couldn't make out what she was saying, but he was trying so hard to give her a sign that he was awake. He could hear her. He felt strange, as if he was floating, but there was a pressure on his chest and on his leg. Wincing as he tried to move, his blue eyes suddenly shot open and he heaved a giant breath. Yelling out in pain from his chest wound, he closed his eyes tightly from the agony and squeezed the bed sheets to try to help himself. One word came forward from his lips and it was all that he could managed. "Leslie.." It was a hoarse whisper, but distinguishable nonetheless. He needed her. He wanted her. He loved her. He couldn't believe that this had happened. He was an idiot, foolish. What had he been thinking? It wasn't his fault, but he saw it that way. Trying to fight to keep his eyes open, he stared wildly around until he saw her face. There she was. Instantly he relaxed, his hand reaching weakly for hers. "Les..I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." He whispered, looking at her with pain filled eyes. What had he done?

[LESLIE DEVON]

The second she heard him say her name, she woke up from the very light slumber she'd been having. She had her head against her arm on the bed with her one hand still in his own. She probably looked like a hot mess, the top for her uniform draped haphazardly on the back of the hospital chair so she was in her white tank top and pants. he nearly jumped out of her seat, surprised he had spoken up and she immediately rubbed the grogginess from her eyes with her free hand to pay full attention to him, "Hey baby...." at the mention of baby, she wanted to tell him the good news...if it could be considered good news. Having a baby freaked her out, deep down inside. Who wanted to push a football out of their vagina? She didn't, "Sh sh sh..." she gave his hand a gentle squeeze for reassurance, "It wasn't your fault, okay? You're fine...that's all that matters," she let out the air she had been holding in a bit shaky from the nerves. She was trembling a bit but she had it under control. She could be strong for the two of them. She'd done it before and she could do it again with her eyes closed.

"You're alive," she said it more to herself than to him and very quietly as if saying it too loud might jinx it, "Anyway..." she moved in closer, looking him right in the eyes even if her own were rimmed red from the force of trying not to cry and the worry that had taken a hold of her. She cleared her throat to seem stronger somehow despite the situation, "You have to get better, young man," she took in a deep breath, "Because if I have to raise this baby by myself, I swear I will hurt you more than this guy did." she gave him a soft smile in response and brought his hand up softly to give it a light peck, "And you know I can do worse," she winked at him teasingly. She was trying her absolute hardest to keep the tension as light as possible, diffuse the situation so it wouldn't seem so gloomy. In a way, it was almost as if she was saying if he wouldn't fight for her or himself, he better damn well fight for the fetus growing inside her.

Leslie wondered if he'd ever know what had ran through her mind when she got that phone call. So much in just a short amount of time and all she could do was sit there and wait. It was the most terrible feeling in the world and she understood now what Doc had said when he mentioned such a feeling the day he had to help her when she got shot on the field. He said minutes felt like years and seconds felt like eternities. All he could ever do was wait and hope she was okay and would pull through because even if she woke up, it didn't mean she would live. Anything could happen and Leslie felt the exact same way at that moment. Yeah, he was talking, breathing, looking at her...but what if this happened again? What if she ended up alone, pregnant, and didn't have him around? It never really crossed her mind that she could lose him so easily. For some reason, she thought she could only lose those she loved if they either killed themselves or were with her in war and just didn't make it home. She'd been surrounded by death for so long, one would think she would know better than to be so ungrateful for the time she had and would potentially have with the man she was in love with. She adored him-both the good and the bad-and not once had she thought about being a single mother or no longer having a partner both as a husband and a police officer...

Husband. No, he wasn't her husband. He was her boyfriend. The only difference was a ring.

[graeson]

Dylan was in pain. He would never admit it and he certainly wouldn’t tell the woman before him that he was suffering. He wouldn’t ask for more drugs because he was sick and tired of being dependent on any substance to make him feel nothing. He was also petrified that he would become addicted. He didn’t want to be addicted to something else as well as alcohol. It was bad enough trying to get over that addiction. He didn’t need to add another one to his belt. So even though the button for the morphine was hanging teasingly beside him he refused to press it. Gritting his teeth as a wave of pain flew through him, his entire body tensed as if he was preparing himself for something worse. And as that agony moved through him, he was glad that he had tensed. Closing his eyes tightly in protest, his hand that wasn’t clinging to hers squeezed the hospital bed’s blankets strongly. The fabric clenched in his fist and he found that he couldn’t fight to hold in the gasp of pain. Losing what little strength he had left from the effort he had made to stay strong, he felt the air escape his lungs. Crying out quietly, he turned his face away from her, ashamed because of his weakness.

He felt useless and crippled. How would he ever walk normally again? How would he work again? His job was so physical and he was worried that he would be prevented from performing at his best. Furrowing his brow, he looked up, refusing to meet Leslie’s eyes. He couldn’t face her. He couldn’t look at the woman that he loved and show her the pain and desperation that he knew was in his own. Forcing himself to stare at the ceiling, he listened as she spoke to him, trying to come to terms with the fact that he had been shot. Every time he closed his eyes he saw himself being shot as if he was watching from a distance. What was going to happen to him now? He refused to be a pencil pusher for the rest of his life. He would not be stuck behind a desk for more than two weeks after he was allowed back onto the force. And physical therapy? He wasn’t going to go. It was useless and a waste of time. Biting the inside of his bottom lip, he finally forced himself to look at her. He had to face her even if he was embarrassed.

It was then that he heard her words. And she had said baby. His eyes froze on her face, searching wildly for an ounce of proof there. He brought his free hand forward timidly, wanting to touch her. Was this a dream? Furrowing his brow, he felt something pull in his chest and it wasn’t from the bullet wound. They were going to have a baby together? Graeson lost it. His eyes filled with tears and the young police officer cried for the first time since he had been a child. The tears fell quietly down his cheeks, and he willed her to come closer to her so he could just hold her. He didn’t care how much it hurt him. He just wanted to be closer to her. And then he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to be with this woman for the rest of his life. He didn’t care what anyone else said. ”Leslie. I love you…I…I d-don’t want..anyone e-else. Marry me…marry me Leslie Devon?” He whispered, his voice hoarse and extremely weak. His body was threatening to shut down on him now, and he felt his eyes fluttering closed. He needed to hear her response first. He needed to know. This baby needed a family. He was going to change and he was going to live for Leslie and for their child now.

[LESLIE DEVON]

Ecstatic would be the understatement of the year.

Pushing the wheel chair onto the elevator, she pushed the button for his floor and let the elevator doors close in front of him. Though he'd made it clear he wouldn't be going to physical therapy, she'd practically made it impossible to weasel out of her helping him to become more physical again so he could go back to work like he wanted to. Basically, she would become his trainer and with her military background, she obviously knew what she was doing and chances were, she'd be tougher than the trainer he was going to have at the hospital. She played with his hair as the elevator dinged with each floor, occasionally people coming on and getting off, "Ms. Leslie Dylan," she said quietly to herself, unable to resist the blush forming on her face. She felt like she was on the sun...no, that she was the sun. As much as it pained her to see him in a wheel chair, the doctor had said it wasn't permanent and she was, well, engaged and pregnant.

God, she was pregnant! She didn't really expect to ever be a mother, much less this soon! And engaged to boot! She was beyond excited and she didn't know how to explain herself or express it other than the blushing, the giggling, and then occasionally mumbling her name with his surname as if testing the waters. She knew how to compose, herself, though. She just couldn't believe it. How could she have been so scared about being pregnant before? Of course he'd be excited about it! Of course he wouldn't leave her over it. How silly of her to even think so, "When I came back to pick you up some clothes," she explained as she started wheeling him toward the door, going around him to unlock it with her spare key, "I bought some stuff and it's all over the coffee table and the kitchen so just ignore it, okay?" she looked over her shoulder at him before she opened the door and moved so he could go in, "And you really should take those painkillers, babe...you're not going to get addicted to them. You'll have your hands full as it is so you won't even think about it," she hated seeing him in pain all the time. It hurt her emotionally and all she wanted to do was take that pain away and bring it upon herself even for a few moments so he would feel some kind of relief.

Closing the door behind him, she started trying to move some of the baby books off of the coffee table and the stacks of papers that had to do with her contract with the Marines. She had a lot of paperwork to do for them just to ask for an extended leave. After she had the baby, though, she'd more than likely have to go back. She wasn't done with her reserve duty so going to the base regularly was bound to happen. Hopefully they wouldn't send her anywhere else overseas. That would suck tremendously if they did. She'd then have two people at home to worry about, "You hungry?" in many ways, she felt like she was babying Dylan lately but she couldn't help herself. She was just in such a fantasticly worried mood and she was soaring high to the point where no one could stop her, "I can make mash potatoes with string beans and chicken cutlets or lasagna or chicken pot pie..." she was throwing things out there, long used to-as usual-taking care of others. She should have become a nurse. Really. But she was a police officer and it was taking care of others.

"First doctor's appointment is next week, by the way," she was moving around the kitchen, putting the paperwork into a neat pile off to the side before grabbing the cutting board and going to the fridge to see what she could make. She looked a like she was gliding everywhere in the yellow skirt, white top (her white coat on the hanger) and floral flats. Apparently she was told wearing heels was a no-go so she'd put all her heels in a box, gladly since she actually wasn't a fan of those things. "And you start training tomorrow. We'll wake up nice and early, kay?" she looked over at him sternly. She wasn't going to take no for an answer. He wanted to be able to walk without dependence, right? Well, baby steps-as soon as possible.

[graeson]

He was free! He was finally, completely free! Alright, well not completely. But he was being released from the hospital and he couldn’t be happier. He hated being confined to that private room. He would have taken a roommate at this point because it would have been someone to talk to. But the police force said that he wasn’t allowed to share, so they had paid for the private room. Graeson had hated it. He felt like he was going to off himself by the end of the two weeks. He had been required to stay for monitoring. The bullet wound to his chest was something extremely serious and they weren’t taking any chances with it. He had relapsed after he had woken up that first night. They had had to shock him back to life, to restart his heart. That was why he had needed to stay the two weeks because it wasn’t like how it was in the movies. Dylan had felt awful after he had started recovering because of that restart. He looked as bad as he felt too. The color was just returning to his face now, but he still looked pale and out of sorts. He wasn’t like how he usually was, but he had brightened when he was given the news. He was going home.

And he was going home to his pregnant fiancé. He couldn’t believe it. Leslie had told him she was pregnant that first night and he knew then that he had so much to live for. Not only did he have a beautiful wife to be, but they were going to have a child. He wasn’t going anywhere. They couldn’t get rid of him that easily and he didn’t want to go. He even was looking into getting a dog so that they could practice raising something together. He had always wanted a dog anyway, and he needed to talk to Devon about the Labrador he had found online. It was six months old, and as pretty as they came. He had the ad he printed out in his hand as they waited for the elevator together. ”Les. You have to look at this for me. Before you say no, hear me out, okay?” He handed her the paper as she played with his hair, which had gotten slightly longer in his stay in the hospital. He wanted the buzz cut back again, and he knew he could probably convince her to trim it off for him. She would do it and he’d feel cleaner then.

Ignoring the fact that he needed a hair cut, he listened to her go on and on about taking care of him as she wheeled him up the apartment. He hated this wheel chair but he was stuck in it until further notice. He couldn’t use crutches because of the pressure it would put on his chest. When his chest was completely healed, then they could talk about crutches. Dylan hated this. He wasn’t good with injuries and he certainly didn’t want to follow the rules. He knew his body better than anyone else, besides perhaps Devon, but that didn’t matter. He knew what he could handle and he could handle crutches. Grumbling a bit as he wheeled himself into the apartment that he had missed so much, he sighed as she started bustling around. His eyes never left her as she moved along, and he just shook his head with a smile. She looked happy and healthy. But happy was what pulled at his heart. She just looked…like her old self and he couldn’t be happier. He was happy because she was happy, despite the crippled state that he was in. They were having a baby. They were getting married. He’d convince her to get the dog. Things couldn’t be better.

Then she mentioned the pain pills. His brow furrowed instantly, and he tried changing the subject as he looked around the apartment. ”What’d you do, move the rest of your stuff in?” He teased with a smile, knowing it was exactly what he wanted her to do. As she asked him what he wanted to eat, his stomach protested. He was still a bit nauseous from the meds the hospital had forced in him and he didn’t have much of an appetite. ”I’m not very hungry babe, really. Maybe some soup?” He questioned, knowing she wouldn’t let it rest until he was eating something. She had this thing with him eating lately. Shaking his head as she continued to baby him, he sighed. ”Les. Take a deep breath. I just got home. Can we enjoy it? Watch a movie? Just be together without the wires and the staff and the meds?”

[LESLIE DEVON]

"A dog?" she asked absently as she looked at what he gave her while looking through the kitchen. She smiled, satisfied, as he said he wanted some soup after giving him a stern look when he said he wasn't hungry. She started cutting up some vegetables on the cutting board, looking over at the paper at the same time. She had always been good at multitasking, "And I didn't move my stuff in," she also said absently, not entirely catching the joking tone of his voice. It seemed, for a second, like she was almost offended, but she hadn't been. She just bought a lot of stuff on her way to getting him extra clothes and she ended up leaving them here since her apartment was farther away from the hospital. She practically lived on the other side of town in an apartment a bit bigger than this one but only because it had three bedrooms instead. It was on the top floor of her building too, so she'd gotten the roof and paid extra for such a privilege, "My place has the extra bedroom..." but she stopped while chopping as he spoke and she looked up at him, "You just turned me on," which was a reference to them just hanging out and watching a movie. Stopping with making the soup, she put everything away into the fridge, all cut up. She'd use it tomorrow for something or other.

Opening the cupboard, she reached up on the tips of her toes and grabbed a box of oreos that looked like it was economy sized. She loved oreos probably more than life itself and it was why she hid them from herself in such places. Or she'd eat them all in one sitting. Grabbing two large cups, she filled them with milk and then headed over to the living room, "Good, sir, your dinner awaits," she smiled brightly at him as she waited for him to come over so she could help him as much as she could so he could get on the couch. She knew he could walk....he just wasn't supposed to put any really strength into anything. She knew he hated all of it. She had defied direct orders when she hurt her shoulder and it had bothered the crap out of her. Hell, she still had her nightmares, occasionally waking up in the middle of the night to sleep walk, but it would eventually go away, right? Hopefully now that she was pregnant-that she needed as much sleep as she could get- she'd be able to knock out and not wake up barking out orders and sitting straight up breathing heavily like she just ran a marathon. She knew she should see a therapist about it...but if she had sex right before bed, she was too exhausted to wake up in the middle of the night...She didn't know what she was going to do now that she couldn't really...do that with Graeson until he got better. At least not until he was on crutches.

Sitting herself on the couch next to him after helping him, she dipped the oreo into the milk and held it up so he could take a bite out of it before handing him the remote. At least she was like a guy when it came to movies...and most things. She'd been one of the guys hadn't she? Always and forever! She wasn't an ex tomboy for nothing, "Did you see The Losers?" she asked, taking a sip of milk and not realizing she had a white mustache, "It's pretty entertaining-especially when Zoe Saldana busts out the missile launcher thing." Her muscles relaxed as she sunk into the couch, already naturally letting her hand rest on her flat abdomen. It wouldn't be flat for long. Before she knew it, she'd look like a whale. And here she thought she'd never get fat again.

[graeson]

Graeson was miserable because of his physical limitations. He hated being hurt like this, and he knew that Leslie was doing her best to make things easier for him. However, sometimes he wished she wouldn’t worry so much. He didn’t want to be hovered over and he certainly didn’t want her thinking that she needed to be here constantly. Of course he wanted to spend time with her but he didn’t want her to sacrifice her life just because he was injured. He could take care of himself. Sighing softly, he heard the tone of her voice as she questioned him about the dog. She wasn’t focused and for a moment, that hurt him more than he thought it would. Furrowing his brow, he looked at his own copy of the dog. He wished that he could just get the puppy himself, but his leg wouldn’t allow him to take care of it properly alone. But the way that Devon was basically sweeping over it didn’t give him much hope. He felt like a child. He felt like he had to ask her permission to do anything and everything and that broke him. His blue eyes stared at the paper, and in another minute he crumpled it out of frustration.

Tossing it into the garbage can on the other side of the fridge, he wheeled away from it and watched as she started getting his food ready. Feeling helpless yet again, Graeson watched her from where he sat in what he felt like was his permanent prison. Before his shooting he had been entirely active, going on runs whenever he was off of work. It gave him that extra push and he enjoyed every minute of it. Now the doctors weren’t even sure when he’d be able to walk again. Trying not to think about that situation, he pushed it all from his mind and then tore his gaze away from his fiancé. He wanted this life with her more than anything but he couldn’t just sit here and be waited on hand and foot. Even if he was as injured as he was. He refused to be an invalid, and as he wheeled over to the couch, he heard her comment on moving her stuff in. She sounded offended and that wasn’t his intent at all. She wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying and that bothered him. Sighing, he just shook his head. He could say that it was just a joke but he didn’t even think it was worth it. Going to the couch now, he was intent and determined to get there by himself. But that wasn’t the case.

She was next to him in a heartbeat and he found himself more annoyed than anything else. When she announced that his dinner was ready, he just sat silently in his wheelchair, his arms crossed over his sore chest. Giving her a look that said she better give him a minute to do something on his own, he knew she would recognize his aggravation and his frustration. She was treating him like a child and he resented every minute of it. He understood that she was just worried and that she wanted to help, but all of this endless running around wasn’t good for her either. She didn’t have just herself to worry about anymore. She had a baby, their baby. He was supposed to be the one caring for her, not the other way around. He was supposed to make the late night runs when she was craving something ridiculous like pickle flavored ice cream. That was his job, but how was he supposed to do it? Doing his best not to speak his annoyances out loud, he moved himself onto the couch with her help angrily. He had wanted to do it himself. Sitting, he stared at the soup in front of him and refused the offered oreo. ”I’m good thanks.” He finally said sharply, his blue eyes staring at the television screen that he had just turned on. And of course it was the news. And of course the headlining story was his release from the hospital. Furrowing his brow, he watched the scenes from that night, seeing himself being wheeled to the ambulance on a stretcher.

His jaw hardened as he watched, listening to what was said about him. He should have called for back up, he should have waited. Graeson had called for back up, and he had waited for as long as humanly possible. Anger coursed through him like a river, and he threw the remote. He didn’t care where it landed. Pain and anger, but mostly hurt filled his eyes as he turned to Leslie. ”They don’t…they don’t know what happened. No one does.” He said, gritting his teeth from the agony his leg was giving him as he moved to stand. He needed to get out of here. Stepping on it and not caring, he landed in his wheelchair and felt the frustrations rising within him. His breaths were coming hard and fast and it was obvious that he was distressed. The flashbacks from the shooting hit him hard and fast and he saw himself falling, bleeding, dying. He froze now, his hands shaking from the tremors inside of him. He held his head in his hands in another moment, all of the frustrations and the annoyances overwhelming him. ”I can’t do this.”

[LESLIE DEVON]

She hadn't meant to sound like she was disregarding what she was saying. She was just so used to doing this because of her father that she just slipped right back into the habit of it like an old pair of gloves. She noticed him tossing the paper out but the dog was still there in the back of her mind. Maybe she'd surprise him with one-a puppy he could name and adore and could keep him company when she went back to work, which would be tomorrow morning. She'd have to buy it sometime on her break and bring it over to him. She was sure he'd appreciate the gesture. But as he sharply spoke to her, she backed off a bit. She wasn't used to that...but she forced herself to toss away any bubbling frustration at his tone. Would he prefer if she just left? Let him do everything on his own? If he couldn't then he couldn't. It wasn't a big deal to need help every once in a while though she would be a hypocrite if she said it out loud considering she disliked getting help from anyone. She was used to doing things on her own in her own way without even the input of anyone else. She raised herself-so she couldn't understand why she'd need the help of anyone else. Maybe that was what was bugging him? That he couldn't do it himself-that he needed her help in order to do it.

As he seemed to react harshly toward the news, her head jerked in his direction as she quickly got on her feet when he got on his own, noticing the flashes of pain across his face. But she didn't move to help him, just stood there in just in case and flinched a bit when he fell into the wheelchair. Leslie remained silent for a moment as her eyes wavered on him, listening to him say he couldn't do this. Of course he could. He was Graeson Dylan. Her Graeson Dylan and that man didn't just give up that easily. With her usual grace, she knelt on the floor in front of him, lacing her fingers into his own. She looked down at their hands intertwined for a few extra moments before looking up at him, leaning in, and kissing his hand, rubbing her thumb against the back of it, "You can do this," she said it bluntly and it was obvious there was no arguing with her over it. He could do it. Why? Because he simply could and because she said he could, "Even if you don't believe you can, I believe you can and I'm sure that's enough to get you to do anything, yeah?"

Reaching up, she put her hand on the side of his face to make sure their eyes would remained locked as she spoke, "You'll be fine. We'll be fine. The Dylan I know doesn't give up so quickly. If he did, I wouldn't be marrying him," not that she'd back out of marrying him. She was just trying to prove her point. Him not giving up had been an attribute of his personality that she admired and adored. If he didn't have that, he wouldn't be the same person. He'd be defeated and he was never defeated-not if she could stand it. "I love you," she said it firmly yet quietly, leaning her forehead against his own, "and you'll be back to work and back to doing everything before you know it. I promise," and Leslie Devon never broke promises-nor did she make them unless she could keep them and she was very confident in him going back to how he was. He may have bumps and bruises along the way but it would be worth it in the end. Brushing her lips against his, she ran her fingers through his slightly longer hair, enjoying the feel of it. Then she kissed him, deeply, the way she couldn't at the hospital because someone was always coming in to check on him and she had to constantly be running between work and seeing him.

They'd get through this. He'd get through this.

[graeson]

He was frustrated and disgusted with himself. He was a cripple that might never return to the line of duty. What if he didn't pass the tests that the force put him through in order to get back on his team? What if he wasn't deemed psychologically fit? What if it was because of his addiction to alcohol? Graeson was a weak man and he knew that. He accepted it even though he didn't want to. He didn't even know why Leslie wanted to be with him in the first place. He had been absolutely horrible to her and she still welcomed him with open arms. After she had discovered him blasted out of his mind and at his lowest, she had taken him in. What if it was just a pity thing? She would never do that. She was stronger than that, right? Of course she was. What was he thinking? Why was he doubting so much all of a sudden? Why would he push away the only person that had ever supported him? Wanting to punch himself now, he shook his head and did the best he could to get all of the negative emotions out of his mind. That was proving to be extremely difficult.

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled sharply and dug the heels of his palms into his closed eyelids. The head ache was forming behind them and it was pounding steadily. He wanted something to relieve the pain but he was terrified of taking the pain meds. His pale face gave proof to the fact that he needed some help. His leg was killing him and his chest felt like it had an endless weight pushing down upon him. Everything was just overwhelming him and he just didn't know what to do. He didn't want to put this on her. She had done so much for him already and she had gone through this as well. It affected her just as much as it affected him. She hadn't had anyone to hold her hand through it either and to keep her strong because he had been the one shot. He was supposed to protect her and to give her support but he couldn't because apparently he was the idiot cop that had tried to play hero, according to the news. It didn't matter that he had saved innocent lives. It didn't matter that they had caught the criminal. What mattered was the cop who had gotten himself shot because he had a superiority complex. It infuriated him.

It was all a bunch of lies. They hadn't even asked him to speak about what happened. They hadn't even asked for a statement. But he knew that they would just twist his words to match their story. What was he supposed to do now? Desperation filled him until he felt her soft hand find his, her thumb rubbing his gently. Looking up, he knew she'd see the raw emotion in his normally blank eyes. He looked away now, not wanting her to see him at his weakest, but she brought him back with her words and with her hand to the side of his face. Forced to look at her now, he sighed softly, finally responding to her words. "Leslie they're lying. That's not what happened. It's not." He whispered hopelessly wanting someone to believe what he was saying. He needed her to believe him. She promised him after that, wishing desperately that her words were true. "Okay. Okay, I believe you. I'm sorry Les...I'm so sorry." He finished quietly, feeling her lips meet his after that. He reached up to cradle her face and he pulled her closer to him, needing to feel her, to touch her, to know that she was real and that he wasn't actually dead. If this had been all a dream he'd be devastated. "Tell me this is real. Tell me you love me Devon...please tell me." She would know then. She would know he was terrified of losing her. She was all that he had left.