"We'll let the hospital keep in touch," wheezes the portly man next to the telephone, who already sounds way too exhausted- maybe that's just his voice. Everyone seems to understand him and trust him without a hitch- for all you know he could be their communications officer. You're so fascinated by these people you don't know well enough that it keeps your mind off of what's to come- barely.
Fox steals a glance at you, to let you know you're still with them. You're not sure you are okay with the idea yet, but at least having an entire militia for-hire to protect you for free isn't half-bad. Protect you from what, you can't say- it may not exist- but at least there's a safeguard.
If they could protect you from your own fears, that'd be great.
Fox informs you sporadically of the situation- between his young kid being too much to avoid and the information processed from his teammates, he's a busy man, but still makes time for you. You know that this is make-or-break. He might wake up, he might be worse than before, he might not be awake for long, he might not wake up at all. You know that he's going to be- hopefully- awake in some capacity, but he's been in a coma that only recently has become medically induced while they remove the wreckage and fix the damage in ways described that make your stomach churn.
You have no idea how one wakes up from a coma when you can barely right yourself from a bad dream. You sleep amazingly well that night, however, because at least you're going to know whether this is the end or the beginning.
At least it's concrete.