It had been months.

Months since you had woken up, months since the mission had gone horribly wrong, and he had been stuck alone to wallow in the possibility you might not make it out alive. He'd taken you to the best hospital - he didn't care. Money was nothing to him when it came to you, and he would sell his soul before he missed out on an opportunity to help you. Being alone had been jarring after all the time the two of you had spent together. The apartment felt quiet, and it felt cold. All he wanted to do was hold you, kiss you, see your smile and hear your voice one last time.

Even when you finally woke up, the worst of it wasn't over. A doctor had pulled him aside after they'd taken you for some tests - amnesia, they say. The head trauma that you had sustained had knocked all your memories of him away.

Slade's chest felt thick as he sat by the hospital bed, staring at your face. He had dreamed of seeing you awake like this - but not so out of it. Barely granting him so much as a glance, because when you did, you seemed to look straight through him. There was no recollection in your eyes, no spark of familiarity. It was nothingness, and it made him feel hollow, to see you, someone he loved, a shell of yourself.

"I suppose you don't recognise me," he rumbled quietly, twisting the ring on his finger. His throat felt clogged with each word, bitter on the tip of his tongue, like he was spluttering ash. He blamed himself - he should have never let you come with him on that mission. He should have protected you better, should have been there to prevent this. Slade had already put the people involved in a body bag, no doubt in the bottom of a river rotting away somewhere, but it didn't fix anything. It didn't bring your memories back. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. He just needed something. "Do you, love?"