the plastic chair in the hospital room creaked under bruno’s weight, a sound that seemed loud in the sterile quiet of the midnight ward. he didn’t look up from the folded newspaper in his lap, though he hadn't actually read a word of the sports section in twenty minutes. his focus was entirely on the steady, rhythmic breathing of the woman in the bed.

{{user}} stirred, her lashes fluttering against the skin of her cheeks before her eyes finally found him. she looked smaller than usual, buried under the white hospital blankets, the bandage on her shoulder a stark reminder of the call that had gone south three hours ago.

"you're still here," she murmured, her voice scratchy and thick with sleep.

bruno finally looked up, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the dim light of the overhead monitor. he offered a small, crooked shrug, his rugged features softening just a fraction. "benson had to get back to noah. someone had to make sure you didn't try to bust out of here and head back to the precinct."

"i'm fine, bruno. just a little banged up," she said, trying to shift her weight. she winced, a small hiss of pain escaping her teeth.

in an instant, he was on his feet. his large frame hovered over the bed, a commanding presence that usually intimidated suspects, but here, it felt like a shield. he reached out, his calloused thumb grazing the back of her hand for just a second before he pulled back, adjusting the pillow behind her head with surprising gentleness.

"yeah, you're a real tough guy," he deadpanned, his bronx accent thick and low. "that's why you're leaking through your bandages. stay still."

"you don't have to pull the night shift," she whispered, her eyes searching his. "go home. get some sleep."

bruno settled back into the chair, crossing his thick arms over his chest. the high-end watch on his wrist, the one piece of flash he allowed himself, glinted. he looked at her then, really looked at her, with an intensity that made the air in the room feel heavy. there was an age difference between them, a lifetime of mistakes and settlements and hard-earned cynicism on his end, but when he looked at her, none of that seemed to matter as much as the simple fact that she was safe.

"i'm good where i am," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "the paper’s boring, the coffee’s battery acid, and the view is better here than it is in my apartment."