Dedicated to ItsMGsShine

Then the doctor checked her pulse once more. Dear Lord, did it just start beating again? Her body warmed up so much that he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. He turned to her family who'd come to bid her farewell.

"She'll live," he affirmed.
As if to confirm his claim, Isla's nose twitched, and her fingers moved.

Craig yelled, "Yes! Yes!" at the top of his lungs.

He ran all the way to the reception, screaming, "She's alive! My best friend is alive!"
Not minding the fact that he was in just his underwear.

And Winter? She turned and hugged her boyfriend so tightly that he thought he'd never breathe again.

"She's alive,"  she wondered, her face beaming with excitement.

"I guess so,"  Hunter chuckled, smiling too.

For the past one week, Winter had been a shadow of herself. She'd stopped eating. Partying. Drinking. Joking. Laughing. Doing whatever made her Winter. For a while, he was worried that she'd lose her mind completely. But everything had changed now. Isla was alive.

As soon as she appeared to be getting better, Craig demanded that Isla be moved to his ward so he could keep an eye on her.

When the doctor raised one of his eyebrows, he shrugged and commented,
"It's nothing serious. I just want to be near her."

But when everyone left and all the patients had been tucked into bed, he whispered, "You won't die on me", even though she couldn't hear him yet.

Her eyes were still shut, but she was breathing. It was enough. When the rays of sunshine peeked through the blinds in the morning, and bird song cascaded in his ears, Craig beamed and beamed because his best friend didn't die.

And he was looking forward to the moment when she'd finally open those emerald eyes and stare up at him.
He watched every rise and fall of her chest. When he felt he was strong enough, he obtained permission to shop for a dozen red roses which he placed by her bedstand. Maya frowned each time she saw him around Isla but he pretended not to see her. Better to ignore the woman than get into a war of words with her, which she would certainly win.

One week to Christmas, Isla glimpsed the world for the first time in days. She blinked. Wait, was she dreaming? Wasn't she supposed to be in heaven? Oh, maybe the angels sang her a lullaby last night. She was sure that she'd been too much trouble for them. They'd just sent her ass to bed before she screwed up again and God threw her back down to Earth.

"She's awake." Craig gasped, leaping from his bed to watch over her.

He leaned in close to scan her face until their heads brushed each other.

Isla made an attempt at sitting up but couldn't. He reached out to her and helped her sit upright, propping her up with pillows behind her back.

"What__ what the hell am I doing here?" She questioned.

He made no reply, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear instead. She grimaced and pushed his hand away.
"Answer my questions, asswipe."

He chuckled, "So bitchy already. Don't you ever take a break?"

Isla peered at him as if she'd never seen him before.
"You have four eyes? Two noses?"

Then he realized that her eyesight was impaired. But in a way, he liked it, so he teased her some more.

"Is that a way of saying I'm cute?" He grinned.

It was his own attempt at starting afresh.

"You're a monster." She whimpered.

Somehow, she detached herself from all the machines and ran out of the room, leaving him stranded.
The doctor barged in minutes later, with an two male nurses wheeling her in behind him.

He rolled up his sleeves and shot her a double dose of anaesthetics.

"That will keep her in her dreams until she gets better. And, until then," he shot Craig a look, "Don't bother her."

Craig raised his hands above his head in surrender.
"Never."

When her eyesight returned to normal and Craig had two eyes again, he kept to himself most of the time.

"Suit yourself." She sighed.

Soon, Isla made friends with the nurse that he called Potato.
Day after day, the nurse visited her even when her shifts were over. She sat on a stool beside her, knitted a baby sweater while Isla sent Craig death glares from time to time.

On Christmas Eve, Craig was dead tired of the silence. He yearned to talk to her. The tension between them grew awkward, as neither said anything. They were allowed to roam the hospital garden once in two days. And they usually went side by side. He took it upon himself to push her wheelchair. Sometimes, he summoned the courage to hold her hand but she drew it away. Couldn't she just stop being stubborn?

"How're you feeling?" He asked as a lame way of starting a conversation.

They came to a halt beside a hedge of hibiscuses.
"Do you even care?" She snapped. He couldn't see her expression but he was sure she was frowning.

"I do," he said wearily.

"Then stop caring. I hate being cared for by anyone, least of all you. From now on, don't push my wheelchair anymore. I'll carry myself around, without your help."

As if to prove her point, she placed both hands on either wheel, and started rolling away. She was leaving. Again.

He grasped her shoulder, stilling her. Slowly, he turned her around in the chair. Then he squatted so that he was on the same eye level as she was, and took her hands in his. She wanted to look elsewhere, away from his sultry gaze but she couldn't. He took a deep breath.

"Have tea with me," he paused, waiting for her reaction.

Oh boy, he got one. She froze. Those emerald eyes pooled with doubt. Then she laughed out loud.
"For real?"

"Go on a date with me, Isla. I'm not asking you out, I'm ordering you," he explained.

She shrugged.
"And what if I refuse?"

"We both know that you want this." He refused to back down.

He'd planned this for days. There was no way he'd let her childishness dissuade him now.

He wiped her bottom lip with his thumb, jerking her out of her thoughts.

"The remainder of your bread crumbs were there. You should really start learning to eat properly," he stated, as if it were a completely normal thing to do.

"You're a fine piece of shit. But I'll go with you," she grumbled.

They had more than tea. The hospital chauffeur drove them to a fancy restaurant on the east coast. Something Isla could afford if she wanted the luxury, but she was too busy nursing her relationship with Peter to care. Craig thought it would be uncomfortable for her to go on the date in a wheelchair, so he carried her in his arms to their table for two at a secluded corner of the restaurant. Dim lights glowed on the two.

The waitress looked very much like Potato, with her slender frame and curves in the right places. Plus her dirty blond hair tied in a cute ponytail, and red lips.

"Hi handsome." She batted her eyelashes at Craig, and strutted her bust upwards. Isla struggled not to gag her.

After she finished taking their orders of tomato paprika soup and hearty grilled sandwiches, he studied Isla with those grey eyes of his.
"Are you okay?"

"I don't mind your flirting with the waitress, if that's what you're asking," she whispered.

Oh. There she was again.

"Isla, I wasn't flirting with her. You saw everything," he argued.

"Oh. Did I?"

She swirled the sauce with her spoon when it arrived. Took a sip of it, then dropped the spoon promptly.

He cringed.
"Is it?"

"Bad? Yes." She began to gather her things.

When he heard her shuffle her feet, he quickly grasped her hand across the table.

"Please, don't leave now. Please. You know, no matter how much we've fought, I've always hated watching you leave," he continued.

He stared at her until her gaze fell and her resolve weakened. They placed another order. She wanted something sugary sweet. Hot chocolate with extra toppings and whipped cream.

"Black coffee, no sugar," he told the waitress.
She smiled too much to be just polite.

And when she thought Isla wasn't looking, she seized the moment to slip a piece of paper into Craig's palm.

Isla stared daggers at her.
"May I have my own piece of paper too?"

The waitress stopped in her tracks.

"Don't worry. Craig and I can share", Isla waved her away, " Right, Craig?"

"Wrong. It's something__ personal," he objected.

She was starting to hate him.

"If only you weren't this jealous, you wouldn't care," he added.

Now, it was official. She hated him. Gripping the edge of the table, she pushed back the chair and made to rise. But she crashed on the floor with a thud. In an instant, he flew to help her up.

"I'm fine!" She growled.

She grabbed the chair, rested her whole weight on it and tried to stand upright. She was almost up on her feet. She could feel the cheer erupting in her system because she'd pulled off the stunt successfully. Then her knees buckled underneath her.

When he held out his hand, she refused to take it.

"I__ I don't need your help," she stuttered.

"Let go of me," she whined as he carried her outside like a little baby. She dug her nails into his shoulder blades, intent on hurting him. But he wasn't having any of it.

Seeing the situation, the chauffeur rushed out the front seat to open the back door for them.

"Thanks." Craig nodded at him.

He lifted her legs onto his laps for a better sitting posture. Then he took off her boots and threw them on the mat.
"Better?" He looked up to find her pouting.

"No. Especially not when my precious legs are on your laps."
She shouldn't have even agreed to go out with him in the first place. This was such a bad idea.

"And some waitress gave you her fucking phone number under my nose. I wish I could strangle her ass to death," she hissed.

He shook his head. Passed her the paper. Watched her face transform into a glow as she read the few words:

You guys look so adorable together!

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Yasss! Isla is Alive! Come on, you guys didn't really think I'd be cruel enough to let my protagonist die that way?