A few more drabbles.
Disclaimer: Still own nothing.
Something Long Forgotten
After Tibet, and the two are safely back on a layover in Dallas, Elena is half-expecting him to disappear again once he’s seen that she is tucked away for the night at Sleepy-Snooze Inn. He rides the elevator up and walks her to her door. Elena murmurs goodnight.
She turns away quickly so that Nate won’t see the disappointment on her face. Instead, he yanks her around, his lips sliding roughly against hers. Elena feels something deep within her, something long ago forgotten that smashes against the surface of her walls and shatters them like bone china.
Elena knows the second he’s come to rescue her. Villains don’t suddenly begin flying in all directions and he doesn’t come in with guns blazing like in the movies. Instead, she hears the slide of someone not having a tight enough grip on a rappelling cord, coming down way too fast, landing on his ass, and letting out a grouchy, “Oompf…dammit…”
“In here, Nate,” she calls. “I’m handcuffed and blindfolded.”
She swears, she can hear the smirk in his voice when he lets out a simple, “Oh, really?”
Elena rolls her eyes. “Now is hardly the time.”
He’s been tortured, shot, nearly drowned, almost eaten, and beaten within an inch of his life. Elena ponders this as she turns the saucepan on. All these things, and then the one thing that he acts like is going to actually kill him is a case of man flu?
Arms crossing, she sighs. The chicken noodle soup slowly comes to a boil. She pours it up into a bowl, grabs a spoon, and heads to their room.
He peels the covers down. “You made me soup?”
He smiles weakly. “I love you.”
She rolls her eyes, but smiles back.
Elena runs her hand down her side over the deep, long scar left there from shrapnel from that damned grenade. It is still raised, pink, and rough.
So much for that bikini body I worked so hard for, she thinks.
Nathan wanders into the bathroom behind her, shirtless, getting ready for bed. He catches her frowning, drops to his knees, and plants a kiss over the scar, running his fingers up the top of it. She shivers and wraps her fingers deep in his hair. They say nothing, but he worships her, scars and all, with all the words unsaid in flesh.
Nate’s never been a foot-tapper. Until now, that is. He is not tapping because he impatient, but because he is nervous. He watches the jeweler give the ring one last cleansing swipe before placing it in its box, then handing it to him for examination. Nate looks down at the marquis diamond.
“What do you think?”
Sully leans his head to the side. “Not that one.” He points to a small, plain silver band. “This one.”
Nate leans down for a closer look. Simple, elegant. “It’s perfect.” His foot taps more.
“She’s the one, kid,” Sully tells him.