A/N: Disclaimer - I have only a very small amount of medical knowledge, so please forgive any inaccuracies. I did try my best and did some research, but I probably still missed the mark a bit. But hopefully you will all enjoy it despite anything I got wrong.

Also, did I mention there was angst? Because... yeah, there's angst.


(Higgins)

I hate hospitals.

I hate the act of having to sit, completely helpless, waiting for someone to come and tell news of whatever it is that's happened to the person I care about.

I hate the smell. It's chemical-laden to the point where you can't distinguish one specific scent from another, just a combined number of ingredients keeping the place sterile and clinical. The waiting room carries traces of sweat and more chemicals and the vague, stale indications of bad coffee and vending machine food.

I hate the plastic chairs you can't get comfortable in and seem to stick to when you try to get up to find a decent cup of coffee. Which, you know, you can't really because it's a hospital.

I still go and pour myself a cup, bad as it may be, though It's less of a need for caffeine and more of a need for distraction. I skip over the sugars and fake cream. If I'm going to drink this sludge, I'll just take it at its strongest and go for it black. I start to walk away, then turn back and fill two more cups, although I suddenly realise I don't remember how they take theirs.

It must be the exhaustion and the worry talking, because I do know how many creams and sugars to add. My brain just won't pull up the information as instructed, and I frown in frustration. My whole head is spinning, reeling with everything running through it at the moment, and my mind rebels against how I want to be able to function like normal right now.

Oh well. Black coffee is better than no coffee, right?

I snap plastic lids onto the three cups and make my way back to the corner of the waiting area where the boys are sitting, balancing the cups in my hands. Both look as absolutely bone-tired as I feel. T.C. slumps in his chair, arms crossed, while Rick sits forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped in his hands. They look up as I return, my footsteps squeaking mutedly on the linoleum floor.

I hold out the coffees in their direction. "Can't speak for the quality," I offer quietly with as much of a smile as I can muster—which, admittedly, is almost nothing. But it's at least an attempt at lightheartedness, and they seem to appreciate it.

"Thanks, Higgy." T.C. takes two of the cups from me and hands one to Rick. He tilts his back for a drink, makes a face, then cracks a forced grin. "I've had worse," he remarks.

I sink back into my chair on the other side of Rick from T.C. My first sip hits my tongue, and I wrinkle my nose and swallow as quickly as possible. However much I appreciate the warmth and the caffeine, I want it off my tastebuds.

We all fall silent then, each retreating to our own thoughts. I think of calling Kumu again, but then I shake my head at myself. I've already left several voicemails; she'll get them when she gets them. She's probably sound asleep.

I shift in my seat and stretch my legs out in front of me, flexing my calf muscles. When my gaze drifts downward, my breath catches in my throat and I nearly choke on my coffee. I haven't paid any attention to myself up until now, but now I see the stain covering my knees and reaching down my shins. My stomach clenches.

Next to me, Rick shifts and then an arm wraps around my shoulders. We're sitting in such close quarters he must have felt me stiffen at the sight of Magnum's blood still on my legs. I turn to see him watching me, his eyes warm with sympathy. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to.

I don't say anything either, just lean into the reassuring support, bite my lip, and try to force my emotions back under control. I'm supposed to be at the house, setting up for a surprise birthday party, not sitting in a waiting room at a hospital, wondering if Magnum is even going to make it through surgery.

The doctors had been nothing if not diplomatic as the stretcher was rushed down the hall of the hospital. "He's lost a lot of blood… possibility of internal injuries sustained from the fight… we can't promise anything other than an update as soon as there is one…"

I clench my jaw. I can't even describe how angry I am at the men who broke into the estate. Those greedy… if they hadn't been looking to make a profit at someone else's expense, Magnum wouldn't be fighting for his life right now. I don't exactly care how they got onto the property in the first place, not right now, but I know I am going to press every single charge the law allows me to—and perhaps more, if I can figure out a way to do so. I make a mental note to call Robin's lawyer to ask how heavy we can make the book we throw at these criminals.

Images of Magnum, lying on the kitchen floor with the life literally draining out of him, rush unbidden to my mind, and I exhale a shuddering sigh. I feel Rick's arm tighten around me. He doesn't say anything, but what is there to say? None of us are okay, and we all know it.

I sniff and straighten my shoulders, standing with a nod of thanks to the man beside me, then rush for the ladies' room down the hall. Thankfully, no one else is inside, because I don't think I can face another person at the moment. The paper towel dispenser is manual, not automatic, and I grab the coarse brown edge sticking out of the plastic box mounted on the wall. I yank down on it a little more roughly than probably necessary, but I just keep at it until I have a wad in my fist. I stalk over to the sink, which is automatic, and wave my hand under the tap to start the water flowing.

Once the paper is dripping with the warm liquid, I turn to lean against the wall beside the counter and start scrubbing at my right leg. It takes a moment for the dried blood to start working its way off of my skin, and I scrub even harder. Ignoring the pressure I'm exerting on my skin, I also pay no mind when the paper starts to shred at my efforts. I focus solely on the task at hand, knowing I can't stop or else my whirling thoughts will take over, and I can't give into the tears burning at my eyes. Not now. I can't.

Distractedly, I notice the water running down my leg in red rivulets. I swipe at them, but I miss some, and they fall to the brown tile with tiny plop sounds. I watch them, trying to compartmentalise them as having come from somewhere else, from someone else.

When the towels are all but shredded and I can't ignore them any longer, I turn and chuck the stained, wet handful into the bin, watching the plastic top flap on its hinges as the weight sends the paper towels into the bag. I bite my lip and move for the dispenser for a fresh handful, wet them again, and bend to attack my left leg.

I make it about ten seconds before my emotions finally break through the brick wall I've been trying to build. The tears start to flow, blurring my vision and obscuring my task. I blink hard but to no avail. The floodgates open, and I slide down the wall to sink to the floor.

Clutching the paper towels in my fist, I draw my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. My tears are flowing, unstoppable, at this point, and I can barely breathe as the sobs wrack my body. The emotions I've been suppressing since we found Magnum all demand to be let out at once, my stomach aches as all of my feelings seem to force their way through it, and it feels as if my heart is being wrung out from inside my chest.

I hug my legs tighter and let the tears fall, knowing I can't stop them now, even though I want to. I lose track of time as they roll on, feeling the salty tears soaking my face and running down my neck. I wipe at my cheeks as the tears start to slow, and I sniffle as they start to trail off. I push heavily to my feet and throw the offending brown paper in the bin. I turn to look in the mirror, sniffling at my reflection. I look a fright, eyes red and puffy, mascara smeared down my cheeks.

I turn on the water and lean over the sink. Cupping my hands under the tap, I wash my face, using some of the soap that comes foaming out of another automatic dispenser. It's terrible for my skin, I know, but I don't particularly care.

Once I've sufficiently cleaned up, I prop my hands on the edge of the counter and lean forward to study myself again. My eyes are still swollen and bloodshot, and there's no way anyone will miss the fact that I've been crying. But I'm clean, at least, and I give myself a satisfied nod at the evaluation before turning my attention to scrubbing the rest of my legs. When I'm finally done, I wipe up the droplets from the floor and throw away a final handful of paper towels.

I sigh heavily, give myself one last once-over in the mirror above the sink, and turn for the door. No one else has come in the entire time I've been inside, and I'm infinitely grateful for that. I don't know what I would've said if someone had found me crying on the floor, although I suspect anyone in this wing of the hospital would completely understand.

I swing the door open and step out, nearly running into a petite nurse. The redhead smiles kindly at me, and I can tell she knows from one glance what's been happening inside the room. She tilts her head sympathetically, then steps past me into the bathroom. I square my shoulders, sniff away the last threatening remnants of my breakdown, and return to the waiting room.

As I approach, I notice a new figure coming from the other direction. Everyone gathered in the chairs looks up anxiously at the sound of footsteps. The other small groups of people turn back to each other when they realise it's not a doctor bearing any news, but Rick and T.C. sit forward in their seats as I hurry to join them and the newcomer: a tired-looking Detective Katsumoto.

I sink back into my seat, and Rick raises an eyebrow at me. I can see T.C. studying me in concern as well, but I just shake my head in response. Thankfully, they don't push the issue.

Katsumoto takes a seat across from me and clears his throat. "Any news?" he asks.

"Not yet," T.C. replies with a shake of his head.

The detective nods slowly. "I was in the area so I wanted to check in." His expression as he quickly studies each of us tells me he's checking in on us as much as he is on Magnum.

"Oh?" I prod. Something tells me it's more than just coincidence he's here.

After a pause, he says gently, "The guys who broke into the estate were also brought here for treatment."

I swallow hard at that.

"You're here to question them," Rick observes. It's not an inquiry; it's a statement. "What did you find out?"

"Turns out this is a crew we've been chasing for a while," Katsumoto says. "They've been hitting homes all over Oahu. Before tonight, though, they only broke in when the homeowners were away, and they always wore masks so security cameras have been useless."

I nod slowly as the information settles. "They thought no one was at Robin's Nest tonight."

"They'd staked out the place for a couple of days before making their move," he continues affirmatively, "which turned out to be while Magnum was away on his case."

Pride fills T.C.'s voice. "Guess they didn't count on Thomas being home to give them a run for their money."

"No," Katsumoto shakes his head. He pauses. "Higgins, I know you have a lot going on here right now, but we need access to the security cameras at the estate," he says gently. "The two guys we have were more than willing to roll on their accomplices. It turns out there's a third member of their crew who was there tonight but escaped before you arrived."

We're all silent, processing the information.

"How do you know these guys are telling the truth?" Rick finally speaks up.

Katsumoto smiles grimly. "Trust me. I made sure they understood the severity of the situation. Neither of them wants to take the fall for attempted murder; they both pointed fingers at a third partner—separately, I might add, so the intel is pretty solid. That's why"—he looks at me—"I need to review anything the security cameras may have caught. We have a name from the two guys in custody and are already looking for him, but any further clues we might dig up will help us find him quicker."

Rick, T.C., and I sit quietly for a moment as the realisation that this isn't quite over sinks in. Somehow, it's harder to take than I would have thought.

Gathering myself, I nod quickly. "Right. Well, here; I have it access to it on my phone, actually," I explain. I set my coffee on the floor under my chair and then pull the device from my pocket. Tapping a series of commands into the phone, I hear T.C. clear his throat.

"So, these guys were just after any valuables that may have been kept on the estate?" he asks Katsumoto. It's more like small talk to fill the silence while I'm working than anything, but the detective's answer makes my blood run cold.

"Not exactly," he starts slowly. "It turns out they used connections through local area vets to pinpoint their targets."

My gaze darts up to Katsumoto. "You're saying Zeus and Apollo were the targets?" I almost don't believe it, but it makes sense, I suppose. Highly trained, purebred Dobermans are worth a pretty penny.

"They were," Katsumoto replies in the affirmative. "The crew confessed to having already stolen close to a dozen purebreds around the island before they tried for the Dobermans."

It feels like someone just punched me in the gut. I wonder if Magnum knew that's why the men had broken in. He's always going on and on about how the dogs hate him and how the feeling is mutual, but it seems he'd put it all on the line to save Zeus and Apollo. I remember how the lads had been sitting atop two of the would-be dognappers, and I'm not sure what this feeling is that's in my stomach as I realise the three of them must have ended up working together.

Then my attention is pulled back to the literal task at hand as my phone vibrates to announce it's completed its task. "You should have all the footage from last night and earlier this morning in your inbox now, Detective," I inform him, tucking my phone back into my pocket. "And I sent you the alarm system records as well in case you need to establish a timeline of which doors opened when."

Katsumoto gives me a small smile of thanks. "I appreciate that, Higgins." He stands and sighs. "We're going to find this guy, believe me."

"Thank you," T.C. replies, reaching out to shake the other man's hand.

The detective nods. "Let me know when you hear anything about Magnum?"

"Of course," I say graciously.

"Thanks."

As he heads back down the hall, none of the rest of us speak.

I sink back in my chair and let my chin drop. I sigh, feeling the rise and fall of my chest, and try to force myself to think good thoughts. Dwelling on what happened, on what could happen, will do nothing beneficial. I learned that with Richard—

No. All that matters right now is Magnum is in the best hands possible, and I just have to wait here until someone comes out, gives us the news he's out of surgery and recovering in a room, and we can go see him. Spending time worrying won't do anyone an ounce of good. It won't fix Magnum, won't make the doctor come out with a good report.

I wonder if it would have been preferable if something like this had unfolded with Richard rather than the way it did, where I just received the news my fiance had been killed, where I hadn't been given the opportunity to know something was wrong, hadn't been given the choice of waiting in a hushed room full of other families in my same position—

Families… but that's what we are, aren't we? I smile in spite of myself as I glance over at Rick and T.C. Both are gazing into the distance, staring at nothing in particular and lost in their thoughts. Yes, that's what we are. They're my boys, and we're a family, little and dysfunctional though it may be.

Magnum is going to pull through. After all, we do have to celebrate his birthday. Something clenches in my stomach at that, but I focus on ideas of what we can do to pull off a lovely celebration in a hospital room without inciting the nurses' wrath.

With those thoughts, I tuck my feet up under me and settle back in my chair until I find a somewhat-comfortable position, leaning to the side to rest my head on Rick's shoulder. He shifts slightly but doesn't move to brush my weight away, and I let my worry-fueled exhaustion drag me into a restless sleep.

If I dream, I don't remember any of it, and, much too soon, I start awake as I feel the ground move under me. As soon as I open my eyes, I see it's not the ground that's moving but Rick. A doctor is standing nearby, and the moment I realise she's here for us is the moment I'm immediately wide awake.

She's an older woman with her dark hair pulled back in a bun, and she gives us a sympathetic smile—one of those practiced smiles that could mean anything at all. "He's out of surgery. It went well, all things considered. We were able to repair the damage done by the knife and, miraculously, his broken ribs didn't puncture a lung. He does have a broken nose and a significant amount of bruising throughout his body, but nothing that won't heal with time." She looks between us. "But he's not out of the woods yet. The stab wound was deep and the serrated edge of the blade did cause some trouble. We'll be watching it closely, but, like I said," she adds kindly, "the operation was successful, and we're cautiously optimistic about his chances."

"Thank you, Doctor," T.C. speaks for all of us.

She smiles again and nods. "He's being moved to a room in ICU so we can keep an eye on him for now," she informs us.

"Can we see him?" Rick asks. "We're family," he adds quickly.

I swallow, my throat feeling dry and scratchy, as I lean forward to catch her answer.

"You may," she replies, "but you do need to be aware he is in critical condition. We expect him to improve, but it may be slow going. He's still unconscious, and when he wakes up will be up to him. It is beneficial for him to hear familiar voices, even if he isn't responsive, but you'll need to remember not to excite him." She gives us a pointed look. "Quiet and rest is as important for Thomas right now as any medical treatment."

We all nod in acknowledgement. Rick is asking more questions, but I can't bring myself to focus. All I can think of is Magnum in a hospital bed, attached to tubes and wires, lying utterly helpless—which pulls my thoughts back to him lying on the floor of my kitchen, pale and bleeding—

"Juliet!"

I look up at the sound of my name. The boys are watching me in concern. Doctor Olina is nowhere to be seen.

"You wanna go see him?" Rick asks me gently.

I stand immediately. "Do you even have to ask?"

For as much as I would have thought I'd remember every detail of this insane night, I've already forgotten much of it by the time my watch tells me it's a proper time of the morning to actually be awake. In a way, I would be glad if the less traumatic portions were the only memories still with me. But, instead, the worst images are still there in vivid detail while the majority of our night spent waiting in the hospital is relegated to the blurry corners of my recall.

I know we made our way to the room in ICU, pointed in the right direction by a nurse with a sympathetic smile—they all had sympathetic smiles—and took turns sitting by our friend's side while the other two dozed off in stiff hospital chairs.

I remember putting my hand lightly over Magnum's where it lay on the mattress, absently stroking the backs of his fingers while avoiding the IV, telling him about finding the lads sitting atop two of the burglars—leaving out details of the man who was still at large—and describe how they'd been so proud of themselves when I'd found them. I tell him how cowed the men had been, chuckling as I remind him he doesn't have to be afraid of the lads if he's not doing something wrong.

He has to wake up, I tell him, because it's his birthday. We can't possibly have a party without him. And what's Kumu going to say when her cake is wasted because no one is home to eat it?

The next thing I know, I feel a hand rub my shoulder, and I start awake. I blink, feeling self-conscious I allowed myself to drift off when I'm supposed to be keeping Magnum company.

Glancing up, I see T.C. looking down at me. He seems tired, the bags under his eyes puffy with lack of sleep, but he speaks quietly. "Hey, why don't you and Rick go grab some breakfast? I just woke up, so I'll take this next shift." It's a gentle suggestion, but I can hear the firm concern in his tone, hushed though it is.

I smile. "You don't have to spoil me, you know; I'm just as capable as either of you boys." I'm mindful to keep my voice low for the sleeping patient beside me.

"We know," T.C. replies. "Go on; Rick needs his coffee, but he refuses to go alone."

My gaze darts over to Rick, who rolls his eyes but doesn't retort. Whether that's because he can't or because he doesn't want to get into an argument in the middle of the ICU, I'm not sure. I manage a smile and nod. "Okay, then. There's a shop down the road; we'll be back in no time."

Honestly, I feel like I've been awake for days, and I'm aching for a nice hot shower, but no way am I leaving for very long. A coffee run won't take more than half an hour; a trip back to Robin's Nest to freshen up will take at least twice that, and I'm not risking taking any more time away from the hospital than I have to.

I know my being here won't change anything, but I'll never forgive myself if I'm away and something happens. As much as I try to tell myself to think good thoughts and focus only on the way things can improve, I'm also a realist. I know patients who aren't in the ICU sometimes take drastic turns for the worse. Someone in Magnum's condition has an even greater chance—

But no, I have to stop thinking like that. It's doing nothing but make me more worried and less willing to do as T.C. has gently prodded me.

I sigh and swallow, noting with displeasure how dry and stale my mouth feels. "Okay," I say again, still careful to keep my voice quiet and even. "See you soon."


(Magnum)

The world is a fuzzy pool of darkness and silence. Nothing's in focus and everything seems to be floating just out of my reach.

I try to find something to focus on, something to grab to pull myself back into reality. I can't see anything, which I realize is because my eyes are closed, but then I can't find the strength to pry them open, so I don't.

A voice drifts into the realm of my senses then, and I can't quite place it. I start to frown in thought and then stop. Everything is being slow to respond, and the entire world feels so out of focus. The voice is still there, though, familiar and low and comforting and droning on quietly. I can't make out the exact words. I don't really care; something about it makes me feel safe and at home—

Home.

Robin's Nest.

Flashes of the fight come flooding back to my mind. It's nothing exact, more like a blur of fists and feet and gunshots. I wince as the barrage of memories floods my mind and set my head pounding. From somewhere off to the side, a machine starts beeping indignantly.

I draw in a quick breath, which the machine really doesn't like, and then I feel a warm hand close around mine reassuringly.

Higgins?

"Hey," the voice comes in more clearly now. The words are still a little fuzzy, but I can at least make them out now. "Thomas? Open your eyes, buddy. Come on. Can you do that for me?"

It's not Higgy… T.C.? Yeah, it's T.C.—or, at least, I think it is.

As much as I just want to drift back off to sleep, I try to do as I'm told. I can't pull my thoughts together enough to verbally respond; I'm expending all my energy obeying the request. It takes all of my strength and then some, but I finally manage to crack my left eye open. My right is slower to do as it's been told, and it only makes it about halfway before I give up.

The room is hazy, and I blink a few times at the shadow by my side. My gaze still isn't completely focused, but I can at least make out T.C. now. He's looking down at me, and his face breaks into a relieved smile as he meets my gaze.

"Boy, you about gave us all a heart attack, you know." He lets out a breath. "I just called the nurse, so someone should be here soon to check on you. It's been quite a night," he adds.

I frown. "'Night'?" I start to shift on my pillows, then immediately stop and regret the motion when a muted shadow of pain darkens my vision. Okay, don't move. Got it. "...time?"

T.C. knows what I mean, thankfully. "Just after eight in the morning." He glances away for a minute—maybe toward the door? "Honestly, bro, we weren't sure you'd wake up at all today, but I'm glad you did," he adds. "It's really great to see you."

I glance past him, frowning ever so slightly when I realize he must be alone in the room.

"Higgins and Rick went get something to eat," T.C. supplies, catching onto my thoughts. "They'll be back in a minute. How do you feel?"

"Ev… rythin' hurts…" Understatement of the century, but it's all I can manage to croak out. I swallow, noticing how much it hurts and realizing the doctors probably stuck a tube down there at some point.

T.C. snorts. "I would imagine so. You've been through a lot, T.M. We were worried for a while there you weren't gonna come back to us."

The room is reeling from whatever drugs they have me on, and my focus is going in and out. It's making me feel like puking, which I really don't want to do right now, so I close my eyes again. The grogginess is starting to slowly pull me back under, and, as much as I want to keep my eyes open and stay with my friend, I just don't have the strength to fight it much longer.

"Thomas?" T.C. pats my hand.

I groan and twitch my fingers. "Tired," I offer in explanation.

"Understandable," he responds, and I can imagine he's shaking his head as he says it. "That was some fight, huh?"

Fight…

Robin's Nest…

All the stuff we broke…

Higgins is going to be so upset.

"Higgy." The word, hoarse as it is, tumbles from my mouth, and I force my eyes to squint open. I look at T.C.'s fading form. "I… th' house…"

"We know," he says.

That figures. But… if they know…

I have to make sure T.C. knows, make sure he tells Higgy. "…fault…" I can't get any more words out, and I want to cry from frustration at not being able to communicate if not for what I know it'll do to my senses, even dulled as they are by the drugs.

"What?" T.C.'s hand tightens around my fingers, just slightly but enough I still feel it.

I take a deep breath and feel pain twinge in my side, but it's muted so I push on. "Not my… my fault…" I avoid moving my head but shift my gaze to look over at him again, trying to convey the message before my body totally gives into the pain and the allure of the drugs. "Jus' hungry… wanted food. Tell Higgy… 'm s… sorry…"

The effort I'm expending trying to talk, to find and form words, is taking its toll on me. I can't remember the last time I felt this exhausted, and I literally cannot keep myself awake any longer.

I think I hear noises from near the door, and I swear I hear Higgins, but my eyes have already closed. Everything around me is getting further and further away as I drift down into the welcoming darkness.


(Rick)

As much as it pains us both to leave the hospital, even for just a few minutes, I realize it's what we need. Some fresh air, a chance to clear our heads. I'll have to send T.C. out on an errand of his own later, I decide. It will do all of us some good to refocus.

We've all been so cramped up in hospital, where time seems to enter one of those weird zones where you can't really keep track of it accurately. It's only been about seven hours since we first arrived, but it feels closer to seventeen.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath of morning air through the Rover's open window as we zip back down the road toward the shopping center. I'm glad Jules insisted on driving, because it gives me a chance to really clear my head. It's already warming up, and there's the scent of some sort of flower on the breeze. Definitely better than the stale medicinal and chemical smell of the hospital.

I feel the car turning and open my eyes to see we're pulling back into the visitors' lot. I reach to gather the paper bag of pastries as Higgy parks and cuts the ignition. She grabs T.C.'s coffee, and we rush inside as quickly as we can without flat-out running.

I find myself wondering if Thomas's condition has changed at all and hoping it's for the better if it has. He has to pull through… He has to. After all we went through in Afghanistan, he just has to make it. Thomas can't have come all this way only to be taken down by burglars in his own home.

Well, Robin's home, but close enough.

A knot is growing in my stomach as we step onto the elevator. I press the button for the correct floor, swallowing around the lump in my throat. As the car moves upward, I try my best to squash the flicker of fear that something terrible has happened since we left to make our breakfast run. Then I shake my head. No, T.C. would have called or texted. It's fine. Thomas is fine.

The elevator dings, signaling we've arrived, and the two of us practically tumble out into the hallway. We head straight for where we'd left our friends, neither of us speaking but not needing to say a word. There's not much to say even if we did talk, and neither of us seems to want to break the breathless silence hovering around us.

As we near Thomas's room, I hear voices. At first, I think it's just T.C. talking quietly, but then we step through the door and realize that's not all it is.

Thomas is awake.

My stomach does cartwheels, and I nearly drop my coffee. I take a step forward, then freeze in my tracks. Thomas's speech is slurred, his eyelids fluttering, but it's not his condition that has me suddenly unable to move. It's the mumbled words I can just make out.

"Not my… my fault…"

I glance over at Jules next to me. Her face has gone even paler, and she's watching the scene unfold with widening eyes.

As for me, the feeling in my gut can't even be named. Thomas nearly died fighting off dognappers at Robin's house, yet all he cares about is that we don't blame him for it. It might just be the drugs talking, but I can't help thinking there's more to it than just that.

"Jus' hungry… wanted food…"

And then his next words come like a sucker punch. "Tell Higgy… 'm s… sorry…" And then his eyes close as his head drops to the side.

It takes me a solid few seconds to realize the machines next to Thomas's bed show no signs of distress. I force myself to take a breath, shuddering though it is; the readout on the monitors indicates he's just fallen back asleep. There's no need to—

Someone bumps me from behind, breaking into my thoughts. I see the back of a doctor's coat as Thomas's physician rushes past us to get to his bedside. Beside me, I hear Higgy draw a harsh breath of her own, but it's like I'm in a daze, like everything that's happening is occurring somewhere far away and I'm just observing. Like when we were running missions and I was watching everything go down through the scope of my rifle. I'm there but at a distance.

More medical personnel rush in now, pushing T.C. aside, and the three of us find ourselves outside the room, looking in on the sudden beehive of activity. It's hard to take, knowing none of us can do a thing and just having to watch helplessly.

I know enough to be able to mostly translate what's going on around Thomas's bedside now. I swallow again as I watch another nurse rush into the room with a syringe of something that gets injected into the IV trailing into the patient's right hand.

I glance over and see Higgy rubbing her arms as she watches the movement of the staff. Something is playing out on her face, and I tilt my head slightly. I recognize those emotions, but I hesitate to say anything. We're all dealing with our own feelings right now… but this is different. This is something beyond knowing we could lose our friend if the scales tip the wrong way.

Shaking my head, I look over to T.C. and then back to where Thomas is lying in the bed with medical personnel working over him. Even from where I'm standing outside the room, looking in through the glass wall, Thomas is pale. Past the tan tone of his skin, he's… I don't want to use the descriptor, but he's deathly pale. I can see it in the sheen on his forehead, in the tint of his lips, in the way the stubble around his mouth stands in stark contrast to the rest of his face.

For the umpteenth time, I swallow hard. I feel like I'm going to throw up, and it's not from anything medical-related. Trust me, after everything I've seen in my life, this hospital is nothing. But watching Thomas lying so still on that bed brings back other memories… memories of how still he was lying on Robin's floor, of the blood I just couldn't stop, staining the tiles and coating my hands… Thomas's blood—which had brought back its own set of memories of the other times I'd seen my friend like that, of the times I'd thought were the last I'd see him, of the times I'd desperately hoped would be the last I'd see him in such a bad way. After the POW camp…

I shake my head, banishing those memories back to the corner of my mind where they've lived all these years. I can't afford to let them come back to life right now. Right now, I need to be here and present in the moment, be alert and available the minute anything changes. Otherwise, I won't be any good to anybody.

And then Jules snatches in a deep breath, her shoulders trembling, and she turns away from the scene in Thomas's room. With a mumbled, "Excuse me," she brushes past T.C. and me and rushes down the hallway.

I look over at T.C. His expression matches what I'm sure is my own, and he raises an eyebrow in a silent question. She's definitely not okay, but neither of us want to invade her personal space by running after her. In a crisis like this, we all need our privacy. I watch her back as she retreats, noting as she takes a turn toward the chapel.

One of the nurses passes us to head back down the hall. I turn just in time to see Doctor Olina coming out of Thomas's room.

She pauses and gives us a kind smile. "Nothing to be too concerned about," she says, only slightly allaying my worries. "He just needs his rest right now; it seems his body wasn't quite ready to process all of the outside stimuli that came with being awake. We've given him some more painkillers and something to help him sleep." She pauses and looks between us.

I bite my lip and feel T.C. shift beside me.

"I'm going to have to ask you both to take a break from his bedside for the time being." She says it kindly, but the words still sting. "The best thing for Mr. Magnum is for him to get some uninterrupted rest, and… well, to phrase it completely non-medically, I think there's a part of him that wants to join the rest of you, and hearing your voices coaxed him awake. Ordinarily, that would be good, but not when his body isn't ready to be fully alert quite yet. He still has some healing to do, and he needs rest and quiet for that to happen."

She gives us a sympathetic look as she continues. "Trust me; you could benefit from some rest as well. Why don't you go home, take a shower, and try to relax at least a little? I promise we'll call you the moment anything changes." With a final, small smile, she turns and heads back toward the nurses' station.

For a moment, we stand in the hallway where she left us, then wordlessly look back toward Thomas. I take a deep breath. The doctor's right; we probably need to clear our heads for a bit—and more than just a quick trip for coffee.

Speaking of which, I suddenly remember the paper bag I set down on the table just outside of the hospital room when all of the chaos started. I glance over and notice the coffee cups sitting next to it—most likely cold by now, though I'm pretty sure none of us care.


To be continued...