❝You know you've got that thing
That makes the girls all swing
You know exactly what you do❞
One Time ~ Marian Hill
___
She woke suddenly the next morning, every thought in high definition. Her eyes took in every ray of light and without a doubt she knew that she had slept for too long. The noises are of a day in full swing, traffic heavy.
She attempts to move, only to be drawn back to the pillow due to her piercing headache. She looked around, slowly, staring at the pristine white walls. Somehow, the wooden table in the corner gave her some sort of aesthetic pleasure due to the clean assortment of pens, pencils, files, and loose paper.
Whoever's house she was in, they knew how to keep clean. She looked down to see an oversized t-shirt covering her body, and then she did what she knew best: panic. She dashed out of the bed subtly.
She clung onto her chest, seeing as her bra was missing under the shirt, and her pants were replaced by boxers too. She tidied the bed to match the cleanliness of the room before she made her way out of the bedroom.
Once she stepped out, her nose immediately caught the smell of bacon. She sniffed it heavily, taking in all the aroma that she could. She followed the scent all the way down the staircase and into the kitchen.
She stopped right before the door, peering in to see the only person she didn't even want to look at. Rick stood there, his back to her, frying some bacon and pancakes in the pan, whistling 'Come As You Are' while her slightly jiggled to the beat he was creating.
She bit her knuckles slightly, muffling an oncoming laugh. She leaned closer, but instead leaning too far out and hitting the leg of a table, making some cutlery rattle. Rick turned around and saw her, a smile plastered on his face.
A pair of grey collegian sweatpants hung loosely from his hips, revealing a defined V-line. The fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt also made it harder for Sierra to actually concentrate on the situation. His body was completely chiseled to perfection, the shadow his abs casted only made them pop out more.
"Good God," she muttered, in awe of his body.
"What?," Rick furrowed his brows, the smile still dancing on his lips.
"Oh—uh, good-good God—those pancakes smell great!," she saved herself from an awkward moment.
"Yeah, you best believe that I make the best pancakes," he chuckled, turning back to the pan.
She let out a small sigh of relief and took a seat on the stools, her elbows resting on the counter. Her eyes wandered down his toned back, and rested on his bum. She knew that guys were the one's fantasizing over butts and boobs, but a girl can also fantasize over a butt too.
She shook her head and stared down at her shirt again, and back came the panic-mode. "Hey, um, Flag?," she voiced, nervously.
Rick looked over his shoulder, "Yeah?"
"Who, um, who changed my clothes?," she asks, her voice slightly perplexed.
His finger slowly shot up in the air as he cleared his throat, "That would—uh—that would be me."
Then she thought of where she had slept, "If I slept in your bed, where did you sleep?"
"On the couch," he pointed to the living room door that was open through the kitchen.
"Great," she murmured under her breath.
"Well, you were covered with your own vomit," he explained as he worked the spatula inside the pan, "I mean, it would've been a crime not to change you."
"Jesus," she muttered, "Was I really that noticeably drunk?"
"After you declared your undying love for me, I kinda assumed for myself."
"I did what?!," she shrieks, then burying her face in her hands in embarrassment, "I'm such an idiot. Did I really do that?"
"No," he laughs, "but you did tell me some other things."
He takes the last pancake out and places it on a plate, then sliding opposite her on the counter.
"Like what?," she raises an eyebrow in embarrassment.
"Just that you like me," he chews on a piece of his food, giving her an amused wink.
"God," she groaned, burying her face back in her hands.
"It's okay," he smiles, then leans across the counter the encircle her chin and make her look up at him, "It just made what I'm about to do, a hell of a lot easier."
Her mouth opened to inquire but it captured by his lips. She leaned forwards too, cupping his cheeks within her palms and drawing him towards her. If it wasn't for the barstool moving and him falling off, things would have escalated too fast too soon.
She giggled at him as he got up, flexing his body naturally. She eyed him up and down, biting her lips at the sight of his body.
"Like what you see?," he smirks.
"Whatever floats your boat, Flag," she gives him back the same annoying smirk.
"Well, I do like to see you in my clothes, they look good on you," a small smile tugs on his lips.
She looked down with flushed cheeks. Then a guilty thought hit her: June Moon was dead and she didn't even tell him.
"Flattery doesn't charge these batteries, Flag," she chuckled, nervously chewing on her bacon.
Rick let out a small laugh, then sitting back on the stool and finishing off his breakfast.
"I need a shower, can I use yours?," she inquired.
"Sure, through the bedroom and to the left," he pointed out.
"Oh, and um, my clothes?," she asked, shyly.
"I washed them, they're in the dryer to your right," he gestured to the machine beside him.
"Oh, right...," she nodded, scurrying over to the machine and gathering her stuff, "I need to go see Digger at the hospital, could you call a cab?"
"I'll drive you there," he insists.
"I couldn't ask for that, Flag," she rolled her eyes, "You practically babysat me the entire night."
"Don't worry yourself, Keller," he chuckles, "Now, go upstairs and shower, you smell like cow manure."
"Asshole," she rolled her eyes with a small smile as she skittered out of the kitchen and upstairs to the shower.
Rick was left there to think about everything. Okay, he had lied about one thing. He didn't really sleep on the couch, instead, and on her request, he had slept next to her the entire night. He loved every moment he could spend with her in his arms. He had completely forgotten about June, and maybe that was a good thing.
Sierra was sat beside her brother, his hand in her grasp as the doctor spoke to her and Rick.
"He's in comatose," he said, a hint of sympathy in his low voice.
"Do you know when he'll wake up?," she asks, concerned.
"See, Mrs. Keller, with patients like these, we really have no idea when they may come out of their coma, so it's hard to predict," he looks through the contents of his clipboard.
"Can you give us a prediction, then?," Rick inquires.
"Like I said, it's hard to predict," he sighs, "Off the top of my head, and as a medical guess, I assume it could take months, maybe years. Most comatose victims do in fact survive, and reading up on Mr. Harkness' reports, I can make an educated guess that he's a fighter. You and your husband have nothing to worry about."
"Oh, um," she points between her and Rick, "we're not married."
"My apologies," he nods, "Your partner and you have nothing to worry about."
"We're—," Sierra couldn't finish her sentence without Rick cutting in.
"Thanks, doc," he smiles, letting the doctor out of the way and out the door.
"What was that about?," she raised an eyebrow.
"You were suffocating the man," he laughs, "Don't worry, Keller, you're not my partner, we established those grounds when you first came here."
She rolled her eyes and turned to her brother, his hand still in hers. As Rick took a seat behind the pair, Sierra began talking to Digger.
"It's me again, big brother," she smiles, "I just wanted to let you know that I called Owen for you, and he's doing fine, he'll be here any moment—."
"Who's Owen?," Rick tilts his head sideways.
"His son," she replies, not willing to elaborate any further. She turned her attention back to her brother, slight tears grazing her eyes, "I'll fix this, Dig, I promise you. Fight fire with fire, am I right?"
The door swung open, revealing a tall figure in the door-way. The boy barged in, running to Sierra and wrapping his arms around her. She sniffled into his chest, patting his back slowly to calm them both down.
As they pulled away, Sierra introduced Rick and the mysterious boy, "Rick Flag, meet Owen Mercer."
The tall boy extended his arm and shook Rick's hand, his grip firm. He then sat down beside his father, biting his lip.
"How're you holding up, Aunt Sierra?," Owen questions.
"As good as I possibly can," she sighed.
"I didn't expect him to be involved in a machine malfunctioning incident, he usually steered cleared of heavy machinery anyways," Owen chewed on his bottom lip, overlooking his father.
Owen Mercer obviously wasn't aware of his father's profession, or the reason he hadn't seen him for ten years. Sierra frequently visited her nephew, though, keeping a close eye on him throughout his life.
"How's college?," she changed the topic.
"It's good, I'm finished with my first year," he nods, "I was hoping you could get me into national security—."
"Nope, no way," she shakes her head.
"Wait, why not?," he argues, and at this, Rick tunes in to their conversation.
"Listen to me, Owen, this is a dangerous line of work that I'd rather not have you apart of," she places a hand on his shoulder, "I don't want you getting hurt, alright?"
"Aunt Sierra," he rolls his eyes, "trust me, I was born to do this."
"Honey, you were born alive, so live a little," she gives him a weak chuckle, then turning back to Digger, "For now, spend as much time with your father, and I'll give you the keys to my apartment in Midway City so you can often visit him."
"And where are you going to stay?," Rick piped up.
"She turned her head to look at him, "Don't you worry, I'll be around."
"Thank you," he hugged her again.
"Anything for my bratty nineteen-year-old nephew," she chuckles, then she remembered something. "Before I forget," she fishes her pocket for a photo, taking it out and placing it on Digger's chest. It was a family portrait, with her mom holding Tom, her dad hugging her mom, and Digger and Sierra fighting with each other on the right corner of the photo.
"That's flattering," Owen chuckles.
She kisses her first three fingers and places them on Digger's forehead before doing the same to Owen. She bids him a goodbye before leaving the hospital room with Rick.
"We're back on the field again tomorrow, are you ready?," he asks her.
"More than ever..."
"You know, you could stay at mine," he smiles.
"But June—."
"If you haven't already guessed, I've made a decision," he grips her hand, lacing his fingers with hers.