Come Back to Me - Part 2
Title: Come Back To Me
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Pairing: Pepa/Silvia
Summary: Post best/worst wedding of the year.
A/N: Enjoy you guys. I don't want to drag this story out for too long but then again, it's such a delicate situation. Leaving out too many details kinda kills the point of the story.
Pepa paced up and down the hospital hallway. Up and down, back and forth, left and right. Don Lorenzo had tried to get her to sit still, drink something, but Pepa could not. She had to stay mobile, had to consistently be in motion. Part of her knew it was in reaction to seeing Silvia lying unresponsively on the cellar floor of their wedding house but pacing was also helping her to shed off nervous and pent up energy. She had been on the receiving end of more than a few curious stares since their arrival at the hospital. It did not help that Pepa had pulled the mother of all tantrums when they would not let her follow her wife into the operating room. It had taken Sara, Lucas and Don Lorenzo to pry Pepa’s hand away from Silvia’s limp one and then physically restrain her as they wheeled the redhead hurriedly into the operating room. Pepa had screamed, shouted and had even slammed an elbow back into Lucas’ face but nothing deterred the trio from their grip on the crazed bride.
Later when Pepa finally gave up resisting and slumped into the tangle of arms around her waist and shoulders, she sagged against the nestle of bodies and cried anew. Never before had she felt so helpless and useless. When Silvia had passed out (again) after Pepa had managed to somehow miraculously revive her, Pepa had felt something inside of her snap. She had shaken Silvia with such a force that Don Lorenzo had to get up and stand between her and her wife, warning her in that authoritative tone he often used to reprimand his staff that if she managed to somehow make Silvia’s injuries worse, he would hunt her down to the ends of the earth.
Of course, Don Lorenzo only said that to stop Pepa’s frantic attempts to get Silvia to regain consciousness but its effect was immediate. Pepa had backed away from Silvia’s prone body looking for the world as if she was the one who had put the bullet in her wife’s body. She backed up so fast and unsteadily that it would have been comical if the situation had not been so grave. Don Lorenzo watched carefully as Pepa collapsed against the rough walls of the cellar, grazing her back with scratches as she slid down to the floor. He was torn between going over to apologize and comfort his daughter in law to making sure that the paramedics, who had coming bursting into the cellar like white stripes of hope and light, were doing their best to take care and stabilize Silvia. In the end he barked harsh instructions to take good care of his daughter to the paramedics team who had attached Silvia to a heart monitor machine and were trying to stabilize the gushing wound, before winding his way over to Pepa and pulling the near cationic woman into his arms and whispering words of apology over and over into the brunette’s ear.
Pepa had clung onto Silvia’s father as if he was the only thing to keep her from sinking into a pit of despair. She cried desperately onto his shoulder, feeling his own tears burn a path down her shoulder, flaring up the scratches she’d given herself as she slid down against the rough stone walls. But it only made her cling harder and she couldn’t bring herself to tear her arms away from the older man even when the paramedics briskly told them that they had to transport Silvia to the hospital NOW for her condition teetered dangerously from critical to fatal.
Don Lorenzo had helped Pepa up, slung an arm around the woman’s waist and walked her out of the cellar, out the front doors to the waiting ambulance. He had gently piled Pepa in before climbing in himself. All throughout the ride, Pepa had gripped Silvia’s hand, as if letting go was too much to bear. And it was.
Now here they were, in a hospital (again). Don Lorenzo watched Pepa pace almost absentmindedly, her eyes darting intermittently to the operating room doors, the swish her dress made against the tile floor as she spun around on her bare feet. He shook his head, wondering how such a perfect beautiful day ended in such tragic horror. He spared a glance over at his granddaughter who clasped Lucas’ hand in both her own, squeezing tightly. Don Lorenzo shook his head again. They were going to have problems, those two. It didn’t matter that Sara had chosen, things were nowhere near resolved. He winced slightly upon seeing Lucas’ swollen eye. Pepa had elbowed him with such force that his eye had swelled shut. But Lucas only offered Pepa a sympathetic smile when she apologized profusely, gripped her shoulder in support and sat back down next to Sara.
Don Lorenzo let loose an exhausted sigh. It was times like this that made him wonder what drove him so hard to choose a profession where you put yourself and your loved ones consistently in the line of danger. It made him wonder if the inevitable heartbreaks were worth it. He dropped his head into his hands, breathing harshly through his mouth.
Pepa continued her pacing, gritting her teeth. What the hell was taking so long? Did they purposely take their time just to screw with her head? Pepa glared at the clock for the third time, as if her blazing stare could make the hands move faster. She blew a frustrated breath out between pursed lips before resuming her pacing. She was stopped short however when she saw Rita round the corner, looking completely and utterly lost and devastated. Pepa closed her eyes against the sight, tried to erase Rita’s crestfallen expression from her mind to no avail. It could only mean one thing: Montoya was dead. Pepa felt the tide of despair and grief push up to her throat again and gave up pacing to collapse into one of the waiting chairs. She buried her face in her hands, tears trickling through the cracks of her fingers.
************
Six hours later
Pepa was asleep on the plastic waiting chair, folded into herself like a pretzel. Sara resiliently kept watch over her broken aunt, rubbing soothing circles on Pepa’s back, mindful of the scratches on the sleeping woman’s back. Sara herself was in shock. This was NOT how she pictured her aunts’ wedding. That and the fact that Lucas had abruptly showed up had almost dismantled her. Sara knew that what she did was wrong. Committing adultery with Aitor whilst Lucas was away trying to salvage his career. But, she didn’t ask for it to happen. Even tried to avoid it. But love wasn’t rational. It never was. She sighed and glanced at the empty chair beside her. Lucas had been comforting and an anchor throughout this entire ordeal but he wouldn’t look at her. Almost as if it was too painful to.
When her grandfather had been summoned to the precinct to give his account of what happened, Lucas had stood up immediately, saying that he would go with him and pit stop at Silvia and Pepa’s house to pick up some clothes for Pepa. Sara had refrained from tearing up as Lucas walked away without so much as a single glance back.
Sara sighed and returned her attention back to her sleeping aunt just as the operating room doors swung open. Sara visibly cringed at the somber look on the doctor’s face but managed to steel herself for the inevitable as she gently shook Pepa’s shoulder.
“Tita,” Sara whispered. She felt Pepa stir under her touch. “You need to wake up, Pepa.”
Pepa heard Sara’s voice as if from miles away. But it was the urgency in her niece’s tone that gave Pepa the strength to pull away from the arms of sleep. Her vision slowly came back into focus as the last tendrils of sleep faded away. Only to jump erratically to her feet when she saw the doctor who operated on Silvia, walk towards them with that damned grave look on his face.
“Doctor,” Pepa rasped out hoarsely, her voice strained and rough from crying and screaming. She reached out and blindly grasped Sara’s hand, squeezing so tightly that Sara winced but Pepa ignored it.
“I have good news and bad news,” the doctor began tentatively, eyeing Pepa with a look of serious concern. The woman was a mess both physically and emotionally. That much he could tell. Pepa’s hands were still stained with her wife’s blood, as was her wedding dress. She physically trembled from both fear and exhaustion. But it was the look in her eyes that concerned him the most. They were hollow. Devoid of emotion. Broken. He wondered if the latest bout of news was going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.
“Your wife…”