He's My Savior

Thirteen

Frost

I was here for a week. I came because she needed the support at her grand opening. Her items were on sale and some were for display only...

Like the picture of my face. The one that she recreated from memory. Of me over her during that IED explosion.

My Savior, she had named it... And it caused some very mixed emotions.

It was a beautiful creation with a horrible story.

It was explicitly for view only.

I wanted to rip it from the wall and let nobody else see it.

But this was her therapy.

I would never take that away from her.

But for now, we were walking the trail with Sparks, not pushing it too much, but enough to enjoy the scenary.

"So, would you be opposed to Dinner tonight?" She looked up at me, a little shocked I asked.

"Not at all. What did you have in mind?"

"Steak. What else?" She chuckled.

"Where at?"

"I heard Fugo de Chao was really good."

"And really expensive." She countered. "I'm fine with Saltgrass-"

"Shawn. You think money matters to me?" I raised my eyebrow at her. She frowned. "It's a nice dinner... You can wear something nice, and eat all the steak you want." She pushed my arm.

"I don't always eat like I'm starving..."

"You do, and I think it's sexy."

"Frost!" I couldn't help but laugh as she pushed me again. "You find the weirdest things sexy."

"Oh, I should show you the brain tumor I had when I was a second year resident... Sexy has different meanings other than just outrageously beautiful... It was a butterfly tumor, almost going around the brain. It was a sexy tumor... Exotic, left too long to develop... A pain in the ass to remove, but a beautifully grown tumor. Fourteen hours to remove with no repercussions."

"So, you're comparing me to a tumor?"

"No! I'm just saying that there's different versions of sexy. You chowing down instead of delicately eating a salad to stay thin is sexy because I really, really hate those kinds of women." She snorted. "I like women who eat. Who curse like a damn drunk Italian sailor's housewife. I like a woman who isn't afraid to say what she thinks or call out people when they're wrong... I like women who aren't afraid of scars, and who do things few people do." We stopped walking. "And quite frankly, you damn well rock that prosthetic. One leg, two legs or no legs, I think you're sexy. So sue me." She cocked her head.

"About time you actually said something." I blinked a few times. "I've been waiting to say something until you did." Again, I blinked. "Wow. Dense, are we?" I was suddenly grabbed at my shirt and pulled down and was met with soft, warm lips.

It took me a moment to piece everything together and actually kiss her back.

After a few moments, she pulled back.

"And what was it you were going to say?" I asked in a murmur.

"That I find hotshot, badass trauma surgeons sexy... The ones that aren't afraid to tell somebody off, that save people's lives... Who saves mine." She gave me a cocky smile. "You're my savior."

I smiled. A genuine, happy, falling in love- for fucks sake smile.

"Glad to be of service." I pulled her back into another kiss, weaving a hand into her hair.