Originally posted for the Criminal Minds Exchange Fest over at livejournal. Written for the uber amazing innerslytherin.

Spoilers through Season 5, 5X08

Betaed by the always amazing, ever patient Smacky30. I pretty much suck without her.

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall

~From The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot

The second to the last thing he thinks before the unsub pulls the trigger is: The profile is wrong.

They'd profiled a white male, 20-30 years of age as the unsub who had been raping, eviscerating and skinning prostitutes. Not a couple of teenagers with guns to go with their knives. The last thing he thinks as he looks into that young, angry face is: Stupid. Waited too long to take him out. He raises his arm a little higher as the unsub pulls the trigger. The bullet hits him in the vest and it feels sort of like a redwood is being driven into his solar plexus. He feels himself start to fall as two things happen at once: the unsub fires again and Morgan dives at the kid from behind.

In his mind's eye he sees how it must have happened; the kid, going for a head shot aimed a little higher this time, but Morgan's tackle makes his aim a little wild and, instead of hitting Rossi in the head the bullet catches him in the side, just under his arm but over the edge of his vest. It stings like a son-of-a-bitch but doesn't hurt nearly as much as the bullet to the vest did, even though he knows it's worse.

It's odd, time seems to slow, nearly stop, and he's hyper aware of everything. The brief, hot smell of the round, the thud as the kid's head hits the floor, the taste of copper in his mouth, the look of absolute horror on Emily's face.

The first thing he thinks when he hits the floor is, I wish she hadn't seen that. Then he hears her cry his name and she's right there beside him, repeating his name over and over, her hands covering the wound.

He hears Hotch screaming over the radio for a bus and Emily taking in a shuddering breath. The second thing he thinks is, Wish we hadn't fought this morning.

It had been stupid, too. He'd barked out an irritated comment about her always leaving her coffee spoon on the countertop and she'd barked right back until it had blown up. They're both tired and stressed over this case and things at the unit and neither of them meant anything by it. Still, he wishes that wasn't their last private moment together.

Everything is blurred, and it hurts to breathe; it sort of feels like he's trying to inhale around an ice pick. He thinks it might be nice to just go ahead and slide into unconsciousness, but Emily's face moves into view as she shifts and bunches up a towel she got from somewhere and he feels her press more firmly against the bullet hole. "David Rossi, you stay with me." She sounds pissed but he doesn't miss the slight wobble either. "Stay with me. Don't you dare die on me." The last ends with a half sob and he feels really bad for putting her through this.

He wants to tell her he's sorry about the fight and that he loves her, but all he can manage is "Em" before he feels something bubble out of his mouth and run down his chin. The look on her face is more frightened than anything he's ever seen, and he's relieved when she bends over and kisses him, tenderly. Oh, good, he thinks, she must not be mad anymore. And that's good, because he's pretty sure he had been a real dick this morning.

When she raises her head, there's blood on her face and her voice is serious, desperate. "Don't you dare, Dave. Don't you dare."

That whole talking thing was a bust, so he just looks at her, keeping eye contact, staying with her, even through the noise and chaos behind her, even when the EMT pushes her out of the way, even when they're wheeling him out. He keeps his focus on her as she walks with him, knowing as long as she's looking into his eyes she'll know he's with her, as long as he can see her face she won't cry, and he knows she doesn't want to cry on the job. When they load him into the bus he loses sight of her but he can hear her arguing with the EMTs about riding with him. Then the ambulance doors close and she's not there, so he let's go and passes out.

***

"The bullet entered through the armpit. Thankfully it missed the heart."

Emily looks at the ER doctor, thinking he doesn't sound all that thankful. She braces herself for whatever he's going to say next, despite Morgan's "Thank god."

"But," the doctor continues, as Emily knew he would, "the bullet passed through his right lung, nicked an artery and he's bleeding internally. I'm concerned about where the bullet is, but really can't tell anything until we get the bleeding stopped." He gives Hotch a grave look. "Has his next of kin been notified?"

Silent up until this moment, Emily steps forward interrupting whatever Hotch is about to say. "I have his medical power of attorney." The entire team turns to her, surprised. If she had the energy she would analyze whether she was amused or disappointed. Really, the kiss hadn't given anything away to a team of profilers?

The doctor focuses on her. "I'll need you to sign off on the emergency surgery to stop the bleeding. If anything else is required, we'll need your permission." He hands her a clipboard with several papers on it and reaches into the pocket of his lab coat for a pen.

Numbly, Emily nods, fumbling with the pen and scratching out her name. After signing, she gives a cursory glance to the form and notes the perfect whorls of her thumbprint in Dave's blood along the edge of the paper. She hands the clipboard back with shaking hands. Dave's blood on my hands, she thinks and shudders at the larger meaning behind it. She studies her hands, wondering how she managed to leave a print when the blood looks dry and it feels like so long ago that she touched him.

"Someone will let you know as soon as we know anything." The doctor gives her a sympathetic smile, nods at the rest of the team and walks away.

"Prentiss," Morgan starts, his voice low and dark, but she holds up a staying hand. She is not in the mood for his 'for the sake of the team, let's hold it all together speech,' no matter how well intentioned it might be. Besides, it's not as if anyone knows what she has to hold together.

Drawing in a shaky breath she immediately regrets because of the overpowering antiseptic hospital smell, she looks at Morgan's chin; she's just not up to meeting anyone's eyes at the moment. "I need to go wash up."

She's aware of the puzzled looks exchanged between Hotch and Morgan, but she just starts down the hall in search of a Ladies' Room, sighing when she hears the sound of J.J.'s heels clacking on the gleaming tile floor behind her. Pushing through the door, she turns towards the sinks and immediately stops at the sight of her reflection in the mirrors.

Her hair has mostly stayed in its ponytail, and the little that has escaped is not behaving too badly. The rest of her, though…she looks like the loser in a particularly nasty bar fight. Her hands and sleeves are streaked with heavy swaths of blood. Despite the fact that she'd still been wearing her vest when she'd tried to staunch the flow of blood her blouse has numerous spots and blotches dotting the collar and front. There is a large smear of Dave's blood on her chin and she remembers the blood that had come out of his mouth when he'd tried to say her name.

She's hardly aware after that until she feels J.J.'s hands on her back and she realizes she is bowed over the sink, gripping the fixtures so hard it hurts. "Hey," J.J.'s voice is soft, soothing. "Hey, Emily. It's okay."

Shaking her head, Emily straightens a little, turns the water on and lies. "I'm okay." J.J.'s doubtful eyes meet hers in the mirror and she lies again. "I'm okay." Which, she figures, is okay because while J.J. is not a profiler, she speaks the language and in this case, "I'm okay" is actually profiler for I'm not okay, but I don't want to talk about it.

"Okay," J.J. nods, stepping back from Emily, leaning against the other sink as her friend begins to wash her hands.

The soap lathers up quickly, milky dark pink bubbles coating her hands and fingers. She rinses, watching the pink tinged water swirl in the white porcelain bowl, then lathers up again. Lather. Rinse. Repeat, she thinks grimly, examining her fingernails after the third cleansing. Most of the blood is gone, except for some that is staining her cuticles and she'll probably need a nail brush to get that off. Besides, she just doesn't want to spend any more time in the restroom when she could be out there waiting for word on Dave.

Grabbing a length of rough brown paper towel from the dispenser, she passes it under the water, catching J.J.'s eye again. She needs to say something to break the silence but nothing seems worth the effort of forming the words. "Is Garcia on the way?" Of course Penelope is on the way, but it's something to say.

"Yeah," the blonde nods. "She tracked down Dave's brother in New York. He's on his way."

Emily pauses in the act of wringing out the paper towel, blinking, unable to think. She swallows and slowly nods. "Okay." She winces as she touches the coarse paper to her face, wiping away the remnants of that bloody kiss. "Okay."

If J.J. notices Emily carefully tuck the blood stained paper towel into her trouser pocket, she doesn't say anything.

***

It's some forty-five minutes later, thirty minutes after Garcia arrives, that there's a whirlwind of bleached blonde, chiffon and Chanel No. 5 that comes through the waiting room door. Emily hears Hotch suck in a breath and looks up.

"Where is he? Where is David?" Tears tremble in her eyes and her tone is so dramatic it would be funny in another situation.

Hotch stands, much as if he were standing to face a firing squad and says one word, confirming Emily's suspicions. "Deborah."

The third Mrs. David Rossi turns to Hotch, somehow managing to look like a wilting barracuda. "Oh, Aaron."

Grimly, Emily thinks if the woman is looking for someone's arms to collapse into, Hotch is not the guy, since he is very clearly putting off "Stand back" vibes. "Deborah Rossi, this is Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jereau, Penelope Garcia." He indicates each person in turn, but Deborah Rossi simply waves a negligent hand.

"I'll never remember all those names." She dabs at her eyes with a lace edged handkerchief and Emily mentally rolls her eyes. What woman actually carries a handkerchief anymore? "How is he?"

"We're waiting on word. They were trying to stop the bleeding. They'll know more after that." Beneath the normally stoic exterior Aaron Hotchner is a compassionate man and Dave Rossi is his friend as well as his colleague, so Emily is a little surprised at just how little he's emoting in front of the ex-wife. He must have a good idea about the way things are with Deborah, though Emily knows he must have figured it out himself. It's not something Dave is proud of or wants to talk about.

"I simply must call Mark…" The woman's breathy voice would grate on Emily's nerves any other day, but today she just tunes it out. It's not important. Nothing is important except Dave.

"He's already been notified; he's on his way." Hotch's voice is matter of fact, his version of comforting.

It's odd; despite Morgan being head of the BAU everyone still looks to Hotch for guidance. Habit, she knows, but she thinks of Dave's voice, his chest rumbling under her cheek as he talked about loyalty being reciprocal, opining when everything is said and done, Morgan will be better off leading a different team where he can build his own base of reciprocity.

"So? We just wait?"

Morgan finally speaks. "Yes, ma'am," and he stands to offer her his seat.

***

When Deborah excuses herself to make a telephone call sometime later, J.J. leans towards Emily and asks under her breath, "How did she find out so fast?" It's probably a rhetorical question, but Emily supplies the answer anyway.

"Erin Strauss." J.J. gives her an incredulous look, but whether it's because of the answer or because Emily knows the answer she isn't sure. "She's Erin Strauss's sorority sister."

Blue eyes wide, J.J. leans closer. "How do you know that?"

Her smile is sad when she answers, "Dave told me." He had, over the last year, told her the story of all three wives, the marriages and divorces and he'd told her about Emma. She isn't jealous of any of them; she knows they all led Dave to her. And they're both exactly where they're supposed to be. Emily Prentiss hasn't spent a lot of her life being self-assured when it comes to her personal life, but some things are just obvious and one of those things is the fact that she and Rossi belong to each other.

She's spared further questioning when Deborah Rossi reenters the waiting room clinging to the arm of a man Emily feels she would have known anywhere. He's half a head taller than Rossi, far more broad shouldered, and his hair is iron grey instead of salt and pepper but the family resemblance is unmistakable. Mark Rossi wears the same somber, heavy expression Dave does when a situation has him worried, and it makes her want to cry. She knew she'd be meeting Mark; she had just expected Dave to introduce them.

They were supposed to go to New York over the summer but with Hotch's attack and recovery and the subsequent fall out with the team and the fact that the cases never stopped, they'd just never made it. But she'd smiled every time she'd heard him on the phone. "There's someone I want you to meet. Someone special…Oh, you're a funny guy. No, I have not met a blind woman…As soon as I can get away…Tell that to the criminals…No, she's not going to come to her senses and get rid of me before then...Because I won't let her, okay?"

Now…now she didn't know how to shake his hand as one of his brother's colleagues instead of the someone special he was supposed to meet. It doesn't matter, she reminds herself. Plenty of time for all of that after Dave gets better.

Still, she was the first to step forward and offer her hand. "Emily Prentiss." She doesn't miss the narrow eyed gaze of Deborah Rossi when she does so, either. "You made good time."

Sliding out of the other woman's grip, he shakes her hand. "Mark Rossi." His eyes sweep over her blood stained blouse and he gives her hand a slight squeeze. "Corporate jet. I was able to get off the ground within thirty minutes of the phone call."

One by one the rest of the team comes forward and shakes his hand, introducing themselves. Hotch fills him in on the little they know of Rossi's condition and then quiet overtakes the room again. It seems to Emily she can hear each individual second being clicked out by the second hand on the wall clock.

A doctor, a different one than the ER doctor from before, enters the room studying a chart. "Family of David Rossi?" This time Emily doesn't hesitate, she steps forward, commanding his attention, giving off an aura of assurance and control.

"How is he?"

"He's in critical condition though we have managed to stop the bleeding." Flipping open a folder, he points to a diagram of the human body and using a pen, begins tracing a line across the paper. "The bullet entered at the axilla. It clipped the lung, but we've taken care of that and the lung should be back to full capacity soon." The pen continues across the paper. "The bullet came to rest here." The pressure of the pen point makes a dark, irregular dot on the page in the diagram's upper chest, lower neck area. "This is where the subclavian artery from the heart moves into the vertebral artery. "

"Did you take it out?" Deborah Rossi's tone is impatient.

The doctor looks up and shakes his head. "No. The family needs to make a decision. If we go in to remove it, there's a chance the vertebral artery could be impacted." Closing the folder again, he gives all of them a somber look. "He could bleed out very quickly or suffer a stroke which could lead to permanent incapacitation."

Emily feels her face go slack and her eyes widen, her lips try to form words, but they're too stiff. Mark speaks instead.

"What if you don't go get it?"

The doctor makes a helpless gesture with his hands. "We just don't know. It could stay there for the rest of his life and never move, or he could be fine for awhile then the bullet migrates into the artery and…the same results…death or debilitating stroke."

There are varying sounds of horror and frustration from the people in the room, but Emily is focused on the surgeon. Late forties/early fifties, self-assured, married. Being in surgical scrubs, she really can't tell too much about his tastes or his personality. His face is kind, his body language is neutral. He knows this is a tough choice and either decision could be the wrong one.

"If it was your family member?" She opens her hands to him in a gesture of supplication. "What would you…"

Deborah breaks in indignantly before Emily can fully articulate the question. "Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to ask questions like that?"

The surgeon looks somewhat taken aback and checks his notes. "Which of you is Emily Prentiss?"

"I am," Emily confirms then turns to the piqued woman beside her. "I have the right because I have his medical power of attorney."

"That's ridiculous," she snaps. "Why would he leave the decisions about his life, his health to you?"

Emily, every inch the daughter of Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss, turns a bland face to the woman. "As opposed to someone who would benefit from a final, large settlement at his death instead of the continuing the court battles to extend their alimony payments?"

Sputtering, Deborah starts to retort, but the surgeon holds up a hand. "Obviously, this is a private matter. I have to make a phone call; I'll be back in thirty minutes to give you time to confer."

Looking much as if he's just witnessed a particularly bloody and vicious tennis match while bombs had gone off around the court, Mark Rossi appeals to Emily with a look. "This is his life. Please don't make a decision based on…" he looks at the former Mrs. Rossi and shakes his head. "I just hope you make a decision for the right reasons."

Over her shoulder, Emily focuses on Spencer. "Reid?"

Standing with the help of his single crutch, he answers. "Yes?"

"How much reading have you done on the human vascular system?"

"The two vertebral arteries ascend the body, one on each side, then enter deep to the transverse process of the level of the 6th cervical vertebrae." He's warming to the subject, speaking a little faster as he reels off the information. "At the C1 level the vertebral arteries travel across the posterior arch of the atlas, then inside the skull where the two vertebral arteries join up to form the basilar artery at the base of the medulla oblongata."

"What happens if one is severed or damaged?" The anatomy lesson was probably unnecessary, but she needs Reid's memory to be as sharp as possible if he's going to help her.

He pales and gives a half hearted shrug. "Rapid blood loss. Stroke. Brain damage. Death."

Nodding her thanks, she turns to Hotch. "If it stays in, he's on permanent disability?"

Grimacing, Hotch agrees. "There's no way he could risk going in the field."

"But he'd be alive," Dave's brother sounds cautious.

Emily turns to look at him. "For how long? If something happens and the bullet moves…" shuddering, she stops, takes a breath and continues. "I can't see David Rossi walking on egg shells the rest of his life, afraid to move too quickly." Shaking her head, she touches a slightly trembling hand to her forehead. "Even if he was willing to do that…to live with it…if it migrated into the artery he's miles from a hospital, from help." She's silent, stricken, for a moment, then she looks at Mark, her expression open and vulnerable. "What do you think?"

His brows raise in the same expression she has seen on his brother's face at least a thousand times and it makes her heart ache. "It's a hard decision. There's not a clear winner either way." He tilts his head studying her face, looking deeply into her eyes. For all it's Dave who's the profiler, Emily suddenly feels emotionally naked in front of this man, the brother of the man she loves. She's not sure what he sees, but after a moment, he nods. "He trusted you enough to put the choice in your hands. I'll support whatever you decide."

"Well, I won't." Deborah's voice shakes with rage. "You have no right, you're not his family." Spittle flies as the woman hisses at her.

"You're wrong." Emily takes a deep breath. "I do have the right." It wasn't supposed to happen like this, but here she is and it's the quickest way to stop this fight. "I am family. I'm his wife."

It's as if all of the air has been sucked out of the room and Emily feels every eye resting on her until Deborah begins speaking again. "You're lying." Her voice is vicious and vitriol filled. "He wouldn't marry you."

"He not only would, he did." Emily decides she has had enough. She was raised to have good manners but this is more than she needs to take at this time. "I'd like for you to leave."

The sound of the hand slapping against Emily's cheek has both Hotch and Morgan on their feet, but Mark is the one to grab Deborah and pull her back. "Are you insane?"

Emily stands, rigid, not quailing, not backing down. Her gaze never wavering from the seething woman in front of her, she speaks to Garcia. "Penelope. Would you please go to the nurse's station or one of the pay phones and call Kevin. Have him do a search of the DC Marriage License Bureau the week of May 26."

Thankfully, Garcia doesn't question her, she simply hurries out to find a phone while everyone stares at Emily. It's an odd, frozen tableau. No one moves, no one speaks. The room is oppressively silent and Emily simply stands, unwavering, until Garcia comes back a few minutes later.

"May 26, 2009, an application for a marriage license was made by David Anthony Rossi and Emily Elizabeth Prentiss, listing the future officiate as Father James Davison, vested in the District of Columbia. The marriage license was issued May 29, 2009." Garcia's recitation is somewhat breathless and, despite the circumstances, it sounds like she is suppressing some serious glee.

"Thanks, Garcia." Emily tilts her head towards Deborah Rossi. "We were married by Father Davison that night."

"Well, that explains a lot." His lip quirking in a half smile, Mark looks at Emily. "So, you're the someone special? Looks like he finally got it right."

"Mark!" Deborah is bristling visibly, her arm still in Mark's grip. "You can't be serious. She doesn't know what's best for David."

"You don't have reason to be here any more, Deborah." Never taking his hand from the blonde's arm, he nods at Emily. "I'll see her out and be right back."

The former Mrs. Rossi is not gracious about it as her ex-brother-in-law escorts her from the room. She is squawking indignantly, making threats and accusations, but Mark simply keeps walking, gripping her arm, forcing her to walk with him.

Despite the situation and the petty nature of it, Emily can't help the ghost of a smile that touches her lips as the woman's diatribe grows fainter. Turning to face her teammates, she encounters a variety of reactions, from J.J.'s incredulous one to Morgan's stormy one. She takes a breath. "I'm sorry, guys. We never meant for you to find out like this." Shaking her head, she snorts. None of this was supposed to happen. "We knew it would be a surprise, but we weren't…we hadn't planned on keeping it a secret this long."

"What was the plan?" Hotch's arms are crossed over his chest. She's sure the significance of the dates are not lost on him.

Lowering her head slightly, she starts, "When you were…" stops and starts again. "We'd been seeing each other for a little over a year and had been talking about getting married. Then, when Foyet attacked you, we…I don't know! I guess we realized how short life is and how dangerous our jobs are and we decided to go for it." Looking at Hotch, she gives a slight shrug. "We applied for the license the day you were released from the hospital." Taking in a steadying breath, she sweeps her eyes over her teammates, then continues. "We knew they wouldn't let us be on the same team, and we didn't want to hurt the team while we were a man down. So we were waiting for Hotch to come back and things to return to normal before we announced it."

Hotch's eyebrows climb. "Only things never returned to normal, did they?"

Shaking her head, she bites her lip. "Not exactly. Dave started hearing rumors from your first day back." Her shrug is helpless. "We couldn't let them break the team up while that was going on."

His face still severe, Hotch uncrosses his arms. "You know what this means?"

Wearily, Emily wilts. "That Erin Strauss is probably going to have both of our badges?"

"No. You're both too valuable for that." He gives a negligent wave. "No, this means when Dave gets out of here you owe us a really big party since we missed the wedding."

"With really expensive wine," J.J. adds.

Morgan snorts. "Screw that. I want an open bar."

Garcia points at Emily, "Car service for everyone so no one has to be a designated driver."

"We could just make them put us up in an expensive hotel," Reid supplies. "Of course, it doesn't make sense to stay at an expensive hotel locally."

Throwing up her hands, Garcia squeals. "Destination party! I'm thinking Bahamas."

"No way," Morgan says. "They're rich. I'm not settling for the Bahamas."

Sagely, J.J. adds, "Italy at least."

Hotch nods. "Good wine would not be a problem in Italy."

Emily, eyes brimming, lips trembling, barely squeaks out, "Guys…" Before she is enveloped in gentle and comforting hugs. It is this scene that the surgeon returns to, Emily gratefully in the arms of her friends and coworkers.

"Ms. Prentiss?"

Stepping forward she replies, "Actually, it's Mrs. Rossi."

***

The first thing he's aware of is the steady hum of the machinery. It takes him a minute but he finally realizes he's in the hospital. He's really sleepy and his brain is fuzzy but he reaches for the memory. The profile was wrong. More than one unsub. Guns, not just knives. Emily's face as she told him he'd better not die.

The second thing he's aware of is the hand clutching his. Emily, he thinks in relief, squeezing her hand. He wants to see her, so he makes the effort, and it is a huge effort, and opens his eyes.

She's staring at him, her eyes wide and luminous. Her hair's a wreck, her nose is red and she has dark circles under her eyes and he's never seen a more beautiful sight. Her lower lip trembles a little and her voice is wobbly when she says, "Hey."

"Hey." His voice is a little raspy so she moves to pour him a cup of water and holds it up for him to sip. "Thanks." He reaches for her hand as soon as she puts the water down and she smiles. His thumb passes over her wedding rings; of course she hadn't been wearing them, but she always kept them with her either in her purse or on a chain around her neck. His wedding band is in his wallet. Why she was wearing them wasn't hard to figure. "Cat's out of the bag, huh?"

She blows out a breath that sounds like a combination of a snort and a raspberry. "Oh, hell yeah, and it's not going back in, either."

"Good." He squeezes her hand. "Tired of hiding when all I wanted to do was brag I'd actually gotten you to marry me."

"Dave," her voice is shaky and he knows what's coming next, "you are never to scare me like that again."

His lips twitch slightly, "Yeah. Sorry about that. Guess I wanted to test that whole 'in sickness and in health thing'."

Rolling her eyes, she moves a little closer to him. "Yeah, well you almost tested that whole 'til death do us part' thing."

Giving a weak laugh he entwines their fingers, "I wouldn't do that to you."

"You better not." Her voice is severe and he can't imagine what she's been through. He shudders to think about how he would react if she had been the one shot and he holds her hand a little tighter.

"I met Mark," she says in a lighter tone.

"Not the way I'd planned that, but at least we don't have to worry about making it to New York, now. Where is the big lout?" She smiles at him and he has to close his eyes for a minute just to savor how much he loves her, how lucky he is to have her.

"I got Morgan to take him to a hotel; Derek practically had to draw his weapon to get him to leave." Her hand rubs up and down his arm and he smiles a little that she can't stop touching him. If he were a little more mobile, he'd have his hands all over her, too. "I couldn't get him to stay at the house with us."

"He's stubborn." He doesn't miss the look she gives him. "It's a family trait," he tries to shrug but finds himself grimacing in pain instead.

Immediately she's on alert. "Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?"

Coughing a little he shakes his head. "No, I'm fine. I just need you."

One of the tears she's obviously been trying to hold back escapes, rolling slowly down her right cheek. "Well, you've got me." She clears her throat. "And, I um, promise not to leave my spoon on the counter anymore."

His laugh is a little stronger this time, even though he's tired. "You can leave the spoon any damn where you want. As long as you stay with me."

"Always." She kisses his fingers. "And forever." Just as he lets his eyes close, she adds, "By the way, I don't think Deborah likes me very much."

He smiles without opening his eyes; he's sure there's a story behind that and he can't wait for her to tell him. Gripping her hand, pulling her a little closer, he lets himself drift back down into sleep. He's a lucky bastard and he knows it; lucky to be alive, lucky to have this woman as his wife.

Yeah, his heart hurts, but not from the bullet wound, simply from gratitude and love.