[Immunity] David Kay - Ch.3: The Weight Of Her Hand

Instructions

The ICU door clicked shut with a soft hiss, leaving Deacon alone in a room that felt way too cold for the woman he loved. Machines hummed in a steady, clinical rhythm. Thin tubes ran from Annie's arms to clear bags of fluid. The ventilator let out a soft mechanical sigh every few seconds, lifting her chest in a motion that didn't belong to her. And there was Annie—his Annie—lying still under the blankets, her skin pale against the white sheets, eyelids slightly bruised from swelling, lips parted around the respirator tube. She looked small. Fragile. Words he never thought he'd associate with her. Deacon stopped halfway to the bed. For a moment, he couldn't move.His heart raced, beating too fast and hard. His breathing stumbled. His legs felt heavy, like they were made of concrete. This was the moment he had dreaded since the ambush—seeing the full reality of what those bullets had done. He pushed himself forward. One step. Another. When he reached the bedside, he lowered himself into the chair slowly, fingers gripping the armrests as if he needed something to hold onto. "Hey," he whispered. The word scraped out, rough and too quiet. He reached for her hand, hesitating just before touching her, like he needed permission. When he finally wrapped his fingers around hers, heat shot through him. Not relief. Not comfort. Just a gut-punch of fear. Her hand was warm but limp—no pressure back. No small squeeze like she always gave him, even in sleep. No movement. Nothing. "Annie..." His voice cracked. "Baby, I... I'm here."He bowed his head, resting his forehead on their clasped hands. His shoulders trembled. No tears flowed—he was way past that point—but his body shook with the weight of everything he was holding in. "You should've yelled at me. You should've told me to move or duck or... something. You always tell me what to do." A fragile laugh escaped him. "I could've used that tonight."A beep from the heart monitor answered him.He swallowed hard. "I'm supposed to protect you. I'm supposed to be the one taking the hits. I've taken plenty." His jaw tightened. "But not you. Not like this."He brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. "I can face anything as long as I know you're behind me. But right now, I don't know where you are. I don't know if you can hear me."He looked up at her, eyes burning."So hear this, okay? You don't quit on me. You don't quit on the kids. You fight your way back. You always do." His voice shook. "I need you to open your eyes. Just... give me something. Anything." The ventilator hissed its steady, indifferent rhythm. He closed his eyes, biting down hard to steady himself. "You know," he murmured, "every time I got scared on a mission, I'd think about you. About coming home. About the silly things we argued about. Or the face you made when you tasted my cooking." A faint, trembling smile. "I need those things. I need you." He leaned closer, his forehead brushing her arm. "I don't know how to do this without you. I don't know how to be strong enough for everyone else when I can barely breathe right now." He finally looked at her again. And for a tiny second, he saw her chest rise more sharply with the ventilator's lift, as if her body were trying to reach. "Annie?" he whispered, tightening his grip. No response. Just a glitch. A false hope. A cruel one. But he stayed there, fingers laced with hers, refusing to let go. If she was stuck between worlds, he'd hold her hand until she found her way back. He wasn't about to lose her. Not without a fight. Not without burning every last ounce of himself to bring her home.