Chapter Text
The doctors pull away and in moments Ichabod is across the room. The water is still in her clothes and hair and he wishes it away. He can still feel the cold slick of it against her skin under his fingers.
Behind his back, his hands tighten around the book, fingers itching for a purchase they aren’t quick to find. At a loss, he falls back on pleasantries. She looks well despite it all and he says so.
She smiles up at him, her hair awry, framing her perfect radiant face and it leaves him reeling anew.
He almost lost this.
He blinks, his chest and throat ache. He is seconds away from launching himself into her arms, burying his face in her lap, and begging her to never go where he can’t follow. Every inch of him is straining, aching for her, the treacherous words already heavy on his tongue.
But he can not and he will not. He can protect her from this.