|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Christian?" she whispered, and the sound of his name in her hoarse, pained voice followed her into the now silent void. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Is your name Christian?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Chris looked up from a studied perusal of his fingernails and met the gaze of the young doctor. Hours had passed, or perhaps centuries, while he waited for news of D.J. He'd cleaned her blood from his hands, though reddish-brown stains still marred his shirt and jeans. He'd left his clothes alone; bloodstains were the least of his worries. He sat up straighter, hope filling him at the lightness in the doctor's eyes. "Yes, that's me." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He started to get to his feet, but the man waved him back onto the couch. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"She's sleeping now. You can see her in a minute. I just thought you might want to know, she asked for you before she went under again." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Chris clamped down on the happiness that flooded through him at the doctor's words. She'd probably wanted to know where he was so she could belt him. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Yeah. Penetrating wound. You were right; the bullet didn't go through. I got it outnothing major nicked, as far as I can tell. She should sleep until she wants to wake up. She'll be sore and, knowing D.J., cranky as hell. But she'll live." The doctor crossed the room and sat in the chair, facing Chris. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"You know her well then, Doctora" Chris strove to remember what the sign out front had said |
|
|
|
|
|