A.N. Welp I did it again... went way too long without posting. This chapter was supposed to be posted way back in October, but circumstances were such that I ended up having to hold off on it. Here it is now, though, as an end of year celebration! Hopefully I can get the rest of this story finished up in the early part of the new year.

Thank you so so much for your thoughts and encouragement! You keep me going!

Also, this is probably an entirely too overshare-y doctor, but we're rolling with it. And while I've done a lot of research to make this realistic and reasonable, I remain a non-medical professional.

Also also, extra brownies for anyone who sees who the doctors in this story (i.e. excluding the doctor from Timing) are named after when you combine them... Had to throw in a reference to another show I enjoy :)

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It wasn't until late that evening that they finally got word on Sam.

The nurses had finally taken pity on them when the fifth hour of waiting had rolled around and moved them to a private waiting room. They'd also been told that at least some of them should go home to rest, as there was no end in sight, but no one heeded that advice. And the nurses didn't look surprised when everyone was still there an hour later when they brought the next non-update: surgery still in progress.

The following hours found some members of the team dozing in their—slightly more comfortable—seats, awakening at any sound that could indicate someone approaching them with good news. At various points, different members got up to stretch their legs and left to walk the halls of the hospital as Ed had earlier. Spike was returning from one such jaunt, when he pushed through the doors into the hallway that led to their private waiting room, and stopped when he saw a doctor approaching from the opposite direction. He was still out of sight of those waiting in the room, but in full view of Spike. His face did not give much away, but his body language screamed reluctance, as if he were about to tackle a task he very much did not want to.

Keep walking, Spike pleaded silently. Don't turn into the room. Be heading somewhere else, not to us. Please.

But the doctor paused just before the door into the private waiting room, and steeled himself, no longer giving any indication of his reluctance of moments before. The mask of a calm professional slipped into place.

But Spike knew what he'd seen. And he dreaded the reason.

The moment the doctor pushed through the doors, Spike sprinted down the hall after him, and made it just after the door closed in his wake. Bursting into the room, he found everyone was already on their feet, crowding forward towards the doctor, aware that in some way, this was it. Jules made eye contact with Spike, relief flashing through her eyes as she tucked her phone away, no longer needing to call him to tell him to get back there.

The doctor glanced over his shoulder upon hearing the door open and stepped aside in order to allow Spike to join his friends.

"I'm Doctor Clarke and I was one of the many surgeons who operated on Constable Braddock. I won't keep you waiting, I know you all have been doing that for far too long, so I want to say first that he has made it through surgery," he launched in, voice clear and calm. It would be comforting except for the niggling worry that had planted itself in Spike's mind moments earlier when he'd seen the other man in the hall.

The tension in the room released, and Spike heard more than one person let out a breath of relief. That is, until the doctor subtly sat down. It was such an innocent move, perhaps he was just taking the opportunity to rest his feet after being on them for what was likely the entirety of the grueling surgery. But Team One was trained in body language and situation de-escalation. They knew the more likely reason was the doctor was trying to set them at ease, to diffuse the tense situation and get them relaxed. If he'd done it to any other group of people, it would have worked. It did not work on them. The moment the doctor sat, the tension shot right back up to its previous level, blanketing the room in unease. Because there was only one reason the doctor would feel the need to proactively further diffuse the situation, when his first words had already done that; he was going to say something they didn't want to hear.

No one called the doctor on it, but they all knew. They chose to sit, however, and wait to hear what else the doctor had to say.

"The second thing I want to say," Dr. Clarke continued, "is that Constable Braddock is quite a fighter, and that we're doing everything we can to fight just as hard to help him. We know how much he's done for others, today, and so many unsung days before that, and we're trying our best to do just a little bit for him in return. But I will be honest—" Here it comes, Spike thought, preparing himself for whatever catastrophic news was to follow "—we're up against some pretty significant challenges. As you all know, Constable Braddock suffered extensive and serious traumatic injuries, and is combatting severe blood loss and dehydration, in addition to the complications of the injuries themselves."

He paused, looking around the room, before plunging on. "Normally I would not share detailed information as to my patient's health with anyone who is not family, but I've been made aware by several of my colleagues, including Dr. Rochelle Angela, who worked with Constable Braddock previously—though she was unable to assist today, but was made aware of his situation due to her experience—that you all are in fact Constable Braddock's family, and it is absolutely in his best interest to share information with you. Therefore, I'll start with what I imagine you all are most concerned about, which is his head trauma."

Spike was not the only one who sucked in a breath. They all knew how devastating a head injury could be, that it would be cruel indeed if Sam made it through the surgery, only for him to not be Sam anymore. They all knew what was at stake, but Spike was the only one who had truly felt and seen the extent of Sam's head wound, and had been dealing with the fear and uncertainty it caused by himself for the last many hours, unwilling to burden his friends with his fears. Wanting to delay what could be terrible news just a moment longer, as well as to connect back to Sam, Spike quickly spoke up. "Would you please call him Sam? I know you want to be professional and respectful and all, but I," he glanced around the room, and saw others felt the same, "we would feel better if you called him Sam."

Dr. Clarke's eyes softened in understanding. "Of course. Sam's head trauma initially looked a lot worse than it actually was; he was incredibly lucky, as the bullet did not fully penetrate and instead inflicted what we call a 'tangential' wound. It struck the left side of his head at an angle that caused a significant laceration which was the source of the extensive bleeding. It did cause a slight skull fracture as well as a cortical contusion, that is, a bruise on the brain, and intracranial bleeding, which elevated the intracranial pressure. We successfully stopped the bleeding during surgery and drained the blood in order to relieve the pressure, but are still monitoring this closely. It's possible there will be no lasting effects, and that's what we're hoping for, but we don't know what kind of damage—if there was damage—the swelling caused. We won't know more until we can assess him further."

While the doctor had done his best to focus on the positive, without sugarcoating or glossing over painful details—a fact they all appreciated—Spike was acutely aware that the doctor had just dodged around saying "when he wakes up," and had chosen his words very carefully. Which meant that he wasn't sure Sam would wake up.

"What's a more immediate problem, however," Dr. Clarke continued, "is the trauma to Sam's chest, which required extensive surgery to repair. The injury itself was severe; the bullet caused a lot of damage as it entered bis body, between his 5th and 6th ribs on the left side, breaking both and ricocheting—which I believe was actually fortunate, and I'll tell you why in a moment. It entered his thoracic cavity and lodged on the interior edge of his left lung, very, very, close to his heart. It was actually positioned such that when his lungs expanded too far, they pressed into the bullet, which not only caused extreme pain and difficulty breathing, likely shifted the bullet repeatedly, causing further damage. It did not, however, nick any major arteries, which is a miracle considering just how close it was to doing so. The good news is that we successfully removed it during surgery without causing it to shift further, set his broken ribs—both of which we had to support with metal plates due to their extensive fracturing—and re-inflated his lung, which had collapsed due to a puncture from one of the broken ribs."

The doctor paused to take a breath, and in the silence, everyone tried to absorb what they'd just been told, and brace for more. Taking it all in, they could understand why the doctor had felt the need to sit.

Before the doctor continued, Libby leaned forward slightly, catching his attention. "So how exactly was it good that his ribs broke? I mean, a punctured lung doesn't sound like a good thing…"

Spike had a pretty good idea as to why, but he was glad that she'd asked.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, thank you for bringing me back to that. Honestly? I truly believe it is the only reason Sam is still alive. The bullet striking both ribs took away enough of its energy and slowed it down such that it stopped short of reaching his heart."

Libby's face drained of color.

The doctor nodded. "I know it sounds awful, but it was fortunate. And in fact, the bullet itself did not cause the lung puncture. That did not happen until later, likely when CPR was administered, as I understand occurred while in route to the hospital."

Spike pressed his lips together to keep himself from saying anything and clenched his teeth hard enough it hurt. You did what you had to do. A punctured lung is not as bad as a lifeless heart, he counseled himself. Logically he knew he was right, but that didn't make him feel any less guilty.

The rest of the room's occupants tensed beside him. They'd been unaware until that point that Sam had needed CPR. It was only then that Spike realized he had not shared that with them. In his own defense, he'd definitely been in shock when they arrived, and then spent an hour getting his shoulder treated, and by then the conversation had moved onto the shitshow that was the previous day.

Dr. Clarke registered their surprise. "I see that comes as a surprise. I apologize for mentioning it so casually, I thought you'd been made aware. As you know, Sam suffered severe blood loss from both injuries. Your actions to stem the blood flow absolutely saved his life, however he still ended up losing almost 40% of his blood volume before receiving treatment, which you may or may not know, is often considered the very limit of how much someone can lose."

The and survive was left unsaid, but everyone heard it.

He continued. "This placed an incredible strain on his already taxed body, and ultimately caused him to go into cardiac arrest while in the ambulance. We were able to restore a normal rhythm, but he did suffer two more during surgery."

"I understand that one of you was with him in the ambulance and actually was the one to perform CPR." His gaze focused on Spike, on the only one who had not reacted with surprise at the fact that Sam had received CPR. "While it is true that the CPR caused the punctured lung, I want to impress upon you that if CPR had not been administered, we would be having a very different conversation."

Spike looked away. He knew that. He knew that. But he could not let go of the fact that he'd caused Sam further pain and injury. He felt Ed's hand land on his good shoulder and give a gentle squeeze. He glanced at his friend and threw him a grateful look, but did not speak.

"Lastly, for the sake of being thorough, he also had injuries not consistent with the two gunshot wounds, they also appear slightly older and must have occurred a day or two ago. They are certainly not as severe, but his right side is bruised from his knee to his ribs and shoulder, though fortunately no ribs are cracked."

The image of Sam sailing through the air and crashing into a wall as Spike stood helpless with a gun pressed to his head flashed before his eyes. He exchanged another look with Ed, knowing Sam had gotten those bruises in order to save their lives.

Dr. Clarke stopped once more and looked around the room, clearly gauging their overall reactions. "I know that this is a lot to take in," he acknowledged. "I'm sharing all of this with you because I need you all to understand just how much of an uphill battle Sam has to fight. Any one of these things by themselves would be a lot for someone to handle. The fact that he is dealing with all of them at once further complicates his situation and potential recovery. But please know that we are doing absolutely everything in our power to help him through this."

No one missed the doctor's use of the word 'potential' in conjunction with recovery. Once again hitting home just how precarious Sam's health was.

"Thank you for your honesty, Dr. Clarke," Greg finally spoke, breaking the momentary silence. "It's not easy to hear, but we appreciate it."

The doctor nodded.

Spike swallowed, before raising his voice to ask the question he knew everyone wanted the answer to. "So when can we see him?"

The doctor paused. Hesitated.

And the room froze.

Spike felt his heart start to race. This. This is why he sat down. No matter how bad it's been up to here, whatever is coming, it's worse. Everything up to now has been an effort to reassure us without truly reassuring us or giving us a true sense of Sam's current condition, and this is why.

Dr. Clarke cleared his throat. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

Everyone was silent, until Spike once more raised his voice, this time asking the question he was pretty sure everyone was dreading the answer to. "Why?"

"Because he's still incredibly unstable."

"Wha-what does that mean?" Spike demanded, voice suddenly hoarse.

The doctor hesitated once more before admitting, "We can't move him."

"Excuse me?" Ed asked in disbelief.

"We can't move him without his vitals dropping dangerously. Even personnel moving in the recovery room are causing issues. We're doing everything we can to stabilize him without a second surgery, because that could be disastrous on his over taxed body and might not even fix the problem, because we don't even know what the problem is. If he stabilizes, we'll move him to a private ICU room and closely monitor him and update you."

He didn't say what would happen if Sam didn't stabilize. He didn't have to. That would mean it was time for goodbye.

The doctor finally rose. "I'll make sure you stay updated." And he headed out of the door.

They sat in shocked silence, until Ed leaped to his feet and ran after the doctor, disappearing into the hall. He returned minutes later, and though Spike threw him questioning looks, he just shook his head and said nothing.

And the team, no longer just Team One, but the team of people who were all deeply invested in Sam's well-being, settled in to wait. Again. And hope that Sam had just a little bit more fight left in him.

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A.N.2. New chapter coming within a week or two! Sam's in the next one... Sort of... I swear!