David stumbled in through the open door of the cabin on feet that had long since turned numb from cold. Refusing to put his frozen burden down, he nearly dropped her as he fell through the door of the washroom and into the tub. Holding her tight, he sat in the tub with her on his lap and turned the taps, gritting his teeth against the agony as water touched his frozen feet and legs. His arms shook and the breath seized in his chest as feeling creeped back into his icy veins. He forced himself to flex and unflex his fingers and toes until the blood flowed and the pain receded. He couldn’t afford to lose a digit to frostbite.

Though all of his thoughts were for his wife he knew he had to care for himself before he could turn his attention to her. Natasha hadn’t moved once since he’d pulled her from the lake and carried her back up to the cabin. He didn’t know how he’d managed such a feat, except he knew she would die if he gave up. So, he’d called on every ounce of training he possessed, cradled Natasha in his arms and crawled bare foot, bare chested out of the lake and rushed back up the side of the mountain.

When his fingers were no longer stiff, he reached for the zipper on Natasha’s sodden coat and gently began peeling the clothes from her limp body. When she was naked, he began scooping water in his hands and pouring it over her chest, neck and upper arms. He gently touched any part of her that wasn’t submerged, checking for damage. He carefully maneuvered her swollen, bruised ankle when shifting her. When the bath water began to cool, he emptied the tub and refilled it again.

He hunched protectively over his wife, watching her face for any flicker of movement that indicated she might wake up. He placed his hand at her throat and felt her pulse, steady under his fingertips. Why was she still unconscious? Her dark eyelashes were fanned against the pale blue indents above her cheekbones, giving her a helpless, fragile look that tugged at his chest. Wet hair was plastered to her small head. A drop splashed against her forehead. He frowned and touched his own face, feeling wetness. Tears? But he didn’t cry. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. Perhaps as a child.

Yet, he felt fear. An unfamiliar emotion until he’d seen Natasha falling down the side of the mountain in the truck. When he dove into the lake after her, he knew that if she didn’t come out alive, neither would he. He would have wrapped himself around her twisted metal coffin and embraced the watery grave as his own. When he’d found her still alive, it was like a miracle being placed back in his hands. A chance to make things right again.

But what if she… what if she didn’t wake up?

David had never in his life known such uncertainty. Natasha’s life flashed before his eyes as he cradled her in the warm tub. The life she could have had if he hadn’t taken her. She had been spectacular on stage. She would have risen to stardom the world over. She would have travelled, become rich and famous. She could have married anyone her heart desired. Could have had children.

This final thought had his hand drifting down her naked body to rest on the low curve of her belly. Once more the tears came unbidden as he finally allowed himself to imagine his child cradled in her womb. He prayed that it was safe, though he didn’t know how it could survive such trauma. Despite the terrible things he’d threatened, David knew now that he couldn’t bring himself to take anything so precious from his wife. He’d been a fool to think it wouldn’t matter. To her. Or to him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her head.

He tilted her head back in his arm, resting it against his bicep so he could see her pale features. A shallow cut traced a bloody line down the edge of her cheek, disappearing into her hairline. Her lips no longer looked quite so blue. He bent over her, resting his mouth against hers and said, “If you just wake, my only love, I will be your slave.”

David paced the floor, his mood and thoughts vicious as he watched the woman, his obsession, fight for her life. He’d moved her, pale and lifeless, from the bath to a thick cushion of blankets in front of a roaring fire. He checked on her continuously. Checking for signs of life, signs of waking. It was just like his beautiful Natasha to remain stubbornly silent while he raged inside with boiling, black pain. She tore him apart and she was the only one with the key to putting him back together. Yet, she remained still as death in her cocoon on the floor.

He shoved his hands into his hair and gripped the strands, racking his brain for more information. He already knew how to handle hypothermia from his time spent in the Russian military, but he still looked up everything he could find in case he’d missed anything. He had been careful to bathe them in cool water to start, gradually warming it so as not to damage their skin. Then he’d removed their clothing. He wrapped her in loose blankets, careful not to compress too much. He did not rub her skin, so the cold blood from her extremities would not rush to her heart. He was certain he had warmed her slow enough.

He did everything correctly. Her breathing was even. Her cheeks were starting to flush with life again. Yet, still she did not open her fucking eyes. He clenched his fists and glared down at her, dropping to his knees at her feet. Blyad, she was breaking him. From the inside out, she was fucking breaking him. He dropped his hands to his knees, his head bowed. He felt like he couldn’t draw enough breath. Like his heart was ready to cease beating the moment hers did, if it came to that.

With shaking hands, he reached for her. Peeling back the blankets he climbed in next to her. He had left her naked and he wore only a pair of sweatpants. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her head under his chin and pressing her chest tight against his. He tucked the blankets in around them and held her as tight as he dared. Tears burned his chest and throat, but he would not allow them to fall this time.

He vowed to every entity that might be in existence that he would change if she just woke up. He would give her whatever she wanted; he would give her the world. There was no world without Natasha. She was everything. He was nothing without her. He understood now why he’d chased her for so long. Why he’d built the dance studio. Though he thought his end game would be her death. He knew now that was never a possibility. Natasha was life.

David loved Natasha. He was nothing without her love.

He felt the barest brush against his chest, like the fluttering of a butterfly’s wing. He loosened his arms a fraction, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down, afraid to hope. He could not see her face. He used his chin against the top of her head to nudge her face up. Her head lolled back in his embrace. Her lashes were making the tiniest of movements.

“Natasha,” he said quietly, his voice breaking, “my love.”

Finally, her lashes lifted and her blue eyes struck through to the heart of him. A mixture of recognition, fear and pain flashed in her eyes as memory hit. He touched her hair, hoping to sooth her with his presence.

“David,” she whispered.