Marlowe
The hours blurred together in the medical tent, Preacher's focused urgency slowly giving way to something more measured as King's condition stabilized enough to stop being an immediate crisis and start being a careful, watchful waiting game.
I stayed at his side through all of it, hand wrapped around his, refusing every gentle suggestion that I should rest or eat or do anything besides remain exactly where I was until I knew, with certainty, that he was actually going to survive this.
His eyes opened sometime near midnight, unfocused at first, then slowly, gradually finding my face in the dim light of the tent.
"Marlowe." Just my name, rough and quiet, but it carried more weight in that single word than I'd have thought possible after everything this night had already cost both
