Chapter Text
Scola offers to drive to the hospital, and doesn’t seem remotely surprised when instead of joining him up front, OA instead opts for sliding into the back seat besides Tiffany.
There’s a lot Scola hasn’t seemed surprised about today, actually, but the implications behind that are going to have to wait, because Tiff is sitting there, still more than a little dazed and confused, teeth chattering just as badly as they had been when he first found her.
“Scola, turn up the heat, please?”
He’s never been more grateful for the fact that he runs hot either, because it means he’s completely comfortable shrugging off his jacket and placing it over Tiffany with a gentle; “here. You need to get warm. This will help.”
The drive is slow and careful, in fact OA is pretty certain Scola has never driven this slowly and carefully in his life, but Tiff is still moaning softly at every little bump, and each time she does it feels a little more like a knife twisting in OA’s heart.
He’s watching her.
Hasn’t stopped watching her since the moment he breached that room.
Might never take his eyes off her again, if he has any say in the matter.
Tiffany on the other hand has her eyes closed. Eyes closed, head leaned back, which is perhaps the only reason he’s allowing himself this public display, because he thinks she can’t see it. Once again though, just as she always does, Tiff proves that she knows him better than he realizes.
She shouldn’t know he’s looking at her as if he’s terrified she’s going to disappear right in front of his eyes again, and yet, she must.
She must, because as he’s busy taking in every detail, memorizing features, an icy hand slips into his.
She’s cold, her movements still sluggish, and yet as she interlocks their fingers, offering his much warmer hand a gentle squeeze, OA’s breath catches in his throat.
They fit.
She, fits.
Perfectly.
Her hand in his, yes, but it’s so much more than that.
Maybe it is time to acknowledge that there might be more behind Scola’s offer to sit this one out than just his awareness of OA’s burgeoning guilt. Maybe the look he’d given him after her rescue does carry greater meaning than just relief over his partner's safety.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, there isn’t any time to dwell on the realizations that are starting to come fast and furious, because Scola pulls up to the emergency room entrance, turns around, and pats Tiffany’s knee gently.
“Hey, we’re here.”
He’s not blind, there’s no way he’s missed the way her and OA’s hands are intertwined, but he has enough tact not to mention it. Instead, he clears his throat slightly and opts for; “I’ll stay in a heartbeat, Tiff, you know that.”
The hand wave she offers him is casual, but not dismissive.
“Of course you would. But I’m good. Just dizzy. You heard OA, a few stitches and I should be alright. I want you to get home to Nina.”
“Tiff…”
“Stuart.”
They’re having a silent showdown, and it’s OA that finally breaks the silence.
“I mean, I’m staying. Even if you just want me in the waiting room and to drive you home, I’m staying.”
Her grip tightens on his hand once more, and she offers a soft smile, first to OA, then to Scola.
“See? I couldn’t get rid of him even if I tried. You go home, Scola.”
He knows Scola is aware, but OA can’t help but add; “she’s in good hands. I promise.”
Sure enough, Scola raises an eyebrow, and offers OA the same all too knowing look he had earlier tonight.
“I never doubted that. I’ll call Nina, have her come get me, that way you’ll have a car to take her home, OA.”
“Thank you.”
For that, and so much more.
—-
It’s turns out Tiff doesn’t just want him to stay in the waiting room. Instead, when her name is called, Tiffany squeezes the hand she’s yet to let go of, and asks; “will you come with me?”
It surprises him just a little, but OA only hesitates for a split second, before squeezing her hand in return.
“Of course I will.”
And so he does.
He doesn’t flinch when her nails dig into his palm as the doctor stitches her up.
Doesn’t miss a beat when they ask if she has a drive home.
Frowns when they tell her she’s got a likely concussion.
The first time all evening that he lets her hand drop from his is to fasten the buttons of her coat with a soft; “can’t have you getting sick on me now, can we? Not when…not when I just got you back.”
His voice sticks a little in his throat at that, and Tiffany’s hand finds its way to her chest for the second time that evening.
“Take me home, Omar?”
“Absolutely.”
—-
He pulls up to her building, parks, and is around to the passenger side opening the door before Tiffany has even unbuckled.
“Nice and easy, Tiff. I’ve got you.”
Instead of taking her hand, this time OA opts for sliding an arm around her waist. It’s comfortable, not awkward, and he’s acutely aware of the way he pulls Tiffany a little closer to his side than is strictly speaking necessary for a concussed coworker. He’s also acutely aware however of how Tiff leans into the touch. Almost as if she welcomes the warmth and comfort it offers.
She manages to unlock her door herself, which OA takes to be a good sign, and he shuffles his feet a little, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he begrudgingly relinquishes his hold on her.
“You’re uh…you’re sure you’re okay?”
He’s not expecting Tiff to look up at him, meeting his gaze with eyes that seem to peer right into his soul. He’s really not expecting her answer to his question to be; “no.”
“…no?”
It’s Tiffany though. She tells it like it is. She’s forthright. It’s one of the things OA has admired about her since very early in her tenure at 26 Fed. So really, he shouldn’t be surprised.
“I’m not okay, Omar. I’m still dizzy, I feel like I can’t get warm and…I’m scared.”
He’s not sure how to answer that. Instead, he tilts his head and offers her a soft “Tiff…”
“I’m not okay tonight. But that’s not your fault, so I don’t want to see you even thinking that it is.”
She breaks off, hesitates for a moment, then continues.
“I might not be okay right yet. But as I was laying there…as I was laying there I knew I would be. Because I know you. So I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you’d find me and bring me home.”
There aren’t really words to respond to that, not that the lump in his throat would allow him to say any anyways, so OA just takes a step forward and wraps his arms around Tiffany, his head in the crook of her neck.
He loses track of how long they stay like that, arms wrapped around each other, standing in her doorway, and quite frankly he doesn’t care.
All he cares about is how once more, Tiffany fits perfectly against him.
How she smells faintly of strawberries.
How the scent of the club hasn’t quite faded either.
How her skin is still cool to the touch.
How her arms are tight around him, but her hand is gentle on his back.
When he finally does break the embrace, OA finds himself clearing his throat.
“I uh, should let you get some rest.”
“I’d like it if you stayed, actually.”
The shock he’s feeling must register on his face, because Tiffany huffs a laugh.
“Not like that. It’s just…like I said, I’m scared. I uh, I don’t want to be alone. And you make me feel safe. But you don’t have to stay.”
His heart is nearly breaking in its space at her admission of fear, but hearing in the same breath that he makes her feel safe? Well, that’s putting it back together again.
“Do you want me to stay, Tiffany?”
Dark eyes meet his, slightly glossier than OA likes, and her voice is soft.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then of course I’m staying.”
Keeping her feeling safe? Even if he hasn’t yet confronted the knowledge of there being more to his reaction today than collegial concern, he knows he’d do anything to make her feel that way.
And if it means he doesn’t have to face letting her out of his sight, the very idea of which is making his heart race and his palms sweaty, for at least a few more hours…. Well that’s just a bonus.”
With that, one step becomes two, and OA closes her apartment door behind him as he repeats;
“Of course I’m staying.”