Hart opened his eyes to all the signs of dawn, though what day of the week was dawning he couldn’t say. With a detached fascination that rode the coattails of a lot of morphine, he took stock of his surroundings. It was difficult to care at all, but some ingrained self-preservation, either a side effect of his being a cop or something else entirely, made him put the effort into staying awake. Hospital bed, dull ache in his chest and shoulder, tug of an IV line in his right elbow, wrapped up left wrist, unidentifiable white noise, the buzz of a building full of people. Thoughts followed awareness, and they were much more painful. Toby gone. Alex most likely gone. Julian staring down the barrel of a gun. Please God, at least let Isaac be home safe. Toby. Hart squeezed his eyes shut before he could cry, though he felt so parched he doubted he had enough moisture in his body to produce any tears. But then you came along, and it was all worth it.
