I really do need to stop saying "I'll have something new soon". It's much too loose of a deadline haha xD Sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy! You get to see a lot of Fillmore in this one. Please let me know what you think, all feedback is welcome!

xXxXx

Between Heartbeats

Chapter Seven – Second Chance

Fillmore woke up the next morning with a raging migraine, a tingling sensation in his lungs, and, the moment he remembered where he was, an ache in his heart. His hospital room was dimly lit by the daylight peeking in from the edges of the closed curtain, and his ears caught the vague sound of carts being pushed by nurses on the other side of his door. His right arm throbbed, and he looked down at it disdainfully before he reached over to turn on the lamp at his bedside. He snatched his phone from the table top and tapped the home button to reveal half a dozen text messages. Hope inflating in his chest, he scanned through them, praying that he saw mention of Ingrid's condition in any of them.

He didn't.

His heart sank. He tossed his phone bitterly onto his lap, messages unread, and leaned back into the pillows with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath as his eyes started to burn, despite the fact he was alone. You don't have anyone to hide from, he reminded himself, but he glared back at the ceiling. The lack of information was eating him alive. The incessant worry still pressed against his chest, like the weight of the world.

She was his world. And he could be in the process of losing her without even knowing it. Granted, he'd be discharging first thing in that morning, but there was no guarantee that he'd be able to see her, or even that there was any update on her. He had a sinking feeling that his parents would force him to go home first – although, he had to admit that nothing sounded more appealing than that – but he didn't want to leave the hospital any longer than he had to, just in case…

He shook that terrible thought from his head. God, he just wanted to see her.

He tapped the home button again to get a glimpse of the time – 8:09 – and sat back up in bed. His parents would be there soon. He flung the blankets off him and let his legs hang limply off the side of the mattress when, right on cue, there was a light knock at the door.

"Yeah," he called as he reached for his glasses on the nightstand and put them on.

The door creaked open quietly, and his mother's head peeked through. "You're awake," she stated, a wary expression crossing her face. She entered the room cautiously, his father close behind her.

Fillmore eyed them curiously. "Good morning to you, too," he greeted, reaching for the water bottle next to the clock. He twisted off the cap and took a drink.

Karim's eyes darted from Joelle to his son. "Nathan hasn't told you?"

Fillmore nearly choked on the water as his heart plummeted to the floor. Adrenaline surged through his body, but he stifled the panic only long enough to ask, with a shaking voice, "Told me what?"

xXxXx

Three hours, a shower, and a change of clothes later, Fillmore walked back into the hospital alone. His palms were sweating in the pockets of his jeans, but he didn't know where else to put them. The reception area buzzed with activity, but he weaved through the bustling crowd with ease. There was something comforting about being so invisible, especially after being confined to a bed overnight and monitored every hour. He pulled out his phone to text Nathan that he was here before he slipped between two groups of people and into the awaiting elevator. He got a response from him almost immediately. Tenth floor, I'm at the desk. His heart raced as he pressed the button for the tenth floor and the elevator doors closed in front of him.

Alone in the elevator, he could've sworn his heartbeat was echoing off the walls, and he pushed the sleeves of his dark jacket up to his elbows as the temperature in the elevator increased in sync with his anxiety. He took refuge in the corner and drew in a deep breath, wincing as a light burning spread through his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut. You can do this, Fillmore, he told himself, but his heart grew heavy as a voice in the back of his mind told him what he was about to see was his fault. You should've been there to protect her, it said. You're the reason she's here.

He shook the voice from his head as the elevator came to a stop on the third floor, opening to let other passengers inside. Realistically, he knew that Canton was the only person to blame. The doctor had even said, if it hadn't been for the three of them going after her, Ingrid most likely would have died right there in the rubble. According to everyone else, he was a hero. If they only knew, he thought.

Maybe he was being melodramatic, but something told him that Ingrid had a much longer road to recovery than everyone realized. Ingrid's sanity had been slowly unravelling ever since the treasury bust, and he feared the explosion was the final straw. Nathan told him over the phone that she'd woken up in the middle of the night – a shock to everyone – and almost came undone as her memory fired up. Apparently, she was worried about him. Considering that, Nathan had convinced her doctors to let him visit her with the argument that, if she woke up again panicking about Fillmore, the only person she'd believe would be Fillmore. He'd probably be the only person who could keep her calm in that situation.

However, Fillmore wasn't sure he'd be up to the task. Reality hadn't quite set in yet. He thought that going back home to shower, to a home cooked meal in a familiar, routine environment, might help, but he still felt high. Like he was still living in a nightmare. He'd spent the last twenty-four hours obsessing and worrying about her condition and, now that the time had come to visit her, he feared the worst. He knew seeing her would be the pinch on his arm to wake him up, the splash of cold water against his face. Could he keep it together? For Ingrid's sake? The elevator dinged its arrival at the tenth floor.

He was about to find out.

The doors slid open, and Fillmore's burning eyes instantly fell on Nathan Third, who was leaning against the front desk and turned around at his arrival. They shared a brief, solemn expression before Fillmore left the elevator and approached him. Nathan held out his arms and Fillmore embraced him.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Neil," he whispered to the boy, squeezing him tightly before letting him go. Their eyes met, both heavy with exhaustion and worry, and Nathan squeezed Fillmore's uninjured arm encouragingly. "I know Ingrid will be, too."

Fillmore gulped back the lump threatening to climb up his throat at the sound of her name. "I'll feel a lot better when she does," he admitted.

Nathan nodded. "You and me both, kiddo." A blonde man, donning a tie and white lab coat, turned the corner and headed straight for them. Fillmore straightened up, his heart pounding against his chest. The middle-aged man smiled as he approached.

"I take it you're the infamous Cornelius Fillmore?" he asked, holding out his hand for Fillmore to shake, which he did as he nodded. "I'm Dr. Rand, I'm Ingrid's surgeon. I've heard nothing but good things about you." He nodded in Nathan's direction.

"I can say the same about you," Fillmore said, shoving his hands back in his pockets, suddenly self-conscious about how clammy they were. "I don't think any of us can thank you enough for getting her this far," he continued.

"And don't worry," Dr. Rand reassured him with a nod, "we're going to be here for the rest of the way as well. Are you ready to see her?"

Fillmore's heart skipped a beat and, for a moment, he forgot how to speak. Of course he wanted to, but wanting to and being ready to were two very different things. He wasn't sure how to answer. He bit back the lump crawling up his throat but nodded. Dr. Rand turned and tossed his head in the opposite direction. "Right this way." Fillmore looked over at Ingrid's exhausted father, who nodded at him and patted his shoulder encouragingly, before following the doctor. "Now, I know that you're probably familiar with her condition for the most part," Dr. Rand began, looking over his shoulder at Fillmore, "but I want to prepare you personally."

Fillmore shrugged. "I've had the feeling that no amount prep is gonna make this any easier," he admitted. "Not sure what else there is to say."

"Well, when she woke up last night, I noticed a thing or two I'm not sure they relayed to you, and it will be useful to know when she wakes up again," Rand explained as they reached the ICU doors. He took off his badge and scanned it in a device by the door, and the door slowly opened. "When Ingrid was thrown against the wall, her head was one of the first things to hit, and we think it damaged her eyesight."

Fillmore's stomach dropped. "Wait, what?" he asked, briefly glancing at Nathan in disbelief. "You mean, you think she's blind?"

Rand shook his head. "No—" Fillmore let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding "—at least not completely. Her pupils reacted to my flashlight, but I think that's all she can see – light and dark. But the impact must have also damaged her tear ducts, which isn't entirely serious, but it can be disturbing when you see it."

"See what?"

Nathan sighed next to him. "She cried blood."

Fillmore's eyes widened as Dr. Rand explained. "It's a fairly rare condition called haemolacria, which is a mild enough condition that can heal on its own, but not always. And, lastly, while only one of her eardrums ruptured from the blast, I'm concerned that her hearing in both ears have been compromised, since she was hardly responding to any of us. So, if you're speaking to her and she grows frustrated, try not to be alarmed."

"You think that'll correct itself, too?" Fillmore asked.

Dr. Rand came to a stop at the beginning of another hallway and shrugged. "Only time will tell," he said. Fillmore nodded in understanding and looked around. Each room had a large window next to the door, but each curtain was drawn. His heart raced and he started to sweat; Ingrid could be in any one of those rooms. She could be right here. Fillmore circled around on his feet, terrified of who could be lying in the bed on the opposite sides of each curtain, before Nathan stopped him and pointed.

"She's right in there," he said softly, pointing at the room directly across from them. Fillmore's heart drummed in his ears as his eyes caught the door, slightly ajar, calling his name. His widened eyes fixated on the door, petrified to go anywhere near it. The burdening weight of reality bubbled in the back of his mind, finally threatening to manifest itself as he came to terms with what was waiting for him on the opposite side of that door. This is it, he thought to himself. You can't deny this anymore.

Nathan squeezed his shoulder. "I know this is hard, Neil, but Ingrid needs you," he told him. Fillmore's eyes burned as his words cut through his heartbeat ringing in his ears. He bit his lip, in vain, as a silent tear fell. "Ingrid needs you by her side," Nathan continued, tearfully. Fillmore nodded. He knew that, but his feet still felt glued to the ground, no matter how badly he wanted them to move. He felt overwhelmed with fear and uncertainty… it paralyzed him.

"And, whether you'll admit it or not, I know that you need her," Nathan finished, his voice breaking at the end.

Fillmore's heart skipped a beat and he squeezed his eyes shut. God, he couldn't have been more right. Ingrid was his best friend, his other half, his partner. She was a constant in his life, a fixed point, someone he could always count on. And, somewhere along the way, she'd become the one person he didn't think he could live without. And she was right on the other side of that goddamn door, fighting for her life, and waiting for him to show up at her side. With a deep breath, he stepped forward. He stood in front of the door, with his head down, and he heard the faint beeping of Ingrid's heart beyond the door. His heart ached at the sound. That means she is okay. She is alive. And she needs you. Fillmore, with a shaking hand, reached up and gently pushed the door.

His heart plunged into his stomach, and he stifled a sob with a fist to his mouth.

Ingrid looked so tiny compared to the machines by her bed, which were hooked up to her in numerous places. Bandages covered most of what he could see of her, and small stitches littered her face, which was considerably paler than normal. Her raven hair, splayed across her pillow, did little to make her seem less… broken.

Fillmore braced himself against the wall as he felt his knees weaken. This really happened. You really almost lost her. He felt a hand on his back, but he ignored it as he gaped at her lying unconscious on the hospital bed. Images of her lying motionless in the rubble of the school, moaning in pain, flashed in his mind. He pushed himself off the doorframe and made his way over to her, suddenly desperate to touch her, to make sure she was real. He loomed over her, staring directly at her eyes, which were closed and bruised. "Ingrid?" he whispered, hoping she could hear him and open her eyes, but, to his dismay, they remained closed. Tears fell freely from his eyes, which travelled from her face, down to her shoulder, her bandaged arm, and, finally, to her limp hand. God, how he wanted – no, needed – to hold her. He blindly reached behind him for the chair Ariella had been living in and pulled it towards him to sit down. Slowly, he took her hand, which was cold to the touch, in both of his, and reality came crashing down on him.

I almost lost her.

He brought her hand to his lips, lightly kissing her fingers. "Oh, god, Ingrid…" he whispered into them as he squeezed his eyes shut. His tears dripped onto her fingertips, but he was too overwhelmed by the guilt burrowing into the depths of his chest where his heart was. He only left her alone for minute… and he almost lost her. That harrowing thought cycled through his mind on repeat, fueling the anguish pouring out of his eyes in waves. The last few months, she'd been all alone. She'd been alone undercover, then alone with her nightmares, alone in her panic, and, even though he did his best to be there for her, she'd been alone in the end… He just thanked god it hadn't turned out to be the end of her.

In that moment, as he looked back up at her, he felt a sense of relief for the first time in over twenty-four hours; despite being the target of a killer, it hadn't beenthe end for her. Ingrid lived. The road to recovery was going to be a long one, but she was going to make it. She'd been given a second chance.

No – he had been given a second chance. A second chance to be there for her the way he promised her he would be. To protect her.

And, by god, he wasn't going to fail her again.

He kissed the back of her hand. "I'm right here, mama," he told her, rubbing his thumbs in comforting circles on her hand. "And you don't ever have to be alone again." He buried his teary eyes into her fingers. "I promise."

xXxXx

I literally love Fillmore and Ingrid's relationship so much. Writing it really gave me the opportunity to appreciate it. This was sooooo hard for me because I didn't want like an OOC tortured-Fillmore thing, but I tried to be as realistic as possible. Please let me know what you think! I know I said I needed to stop saying it, but… I'LL HAVE MORE FOR YOU SOON XD

ellameno