Average, healthy adults have around five liters of blood flowing through them at any given time. That might seem like a lot, but given the insane amount of cells in the human body (over thirty seven trillion!) that depend on that blood to live, it's really not that much. Which makes every single drop all the more precious.

A single drop of blood can contain up to three hundred million red cells.

Looking at the floor surrounding Bright, Edrisa couldn't dare try to estimate how many billions he had lost already. It was too much, for certain.

In the background, the medical examiner could hear the faint noise of Dani opening and closing drawers, of her muffled cry of triumph when she found the right body and pulled the sliding table out in a swoosh of metal against metal.

Her hearing, however, had been taken over by Malcolm's rapid and shallow breathing and JT's endless string of quiet cursing. He was on his knees, moving around the younger man and multitasking like some weird octopus of the law. He had managed to wiggle one leg beneath Malcolm at the same time that he was taking his coat off, all the while trying to keep at least one hand pressing on the gushing wound at all times. It was... impressive.

"We gotta do somethin', dude's cold as a corpse," the detective let out, his voice betraying a level of concern for the fallen profiler that no one could ever believe would come from him, not for Bright anyway. "His pulse is getting' weaker too... I can barely feel it."

Edrisa nodded, her head bobbing up and down too fast, making her dizzy. It made sense, it was, after all, how the body responded to these sort of traumatic events. Respiratory acceleration, to increase the uptake of oxygen; elevated heart rate to pump blood faster across every tissue. Unfortunately, the human body had a tendency to fight for normalcy and balance no matter what cost, without a single thought towards consequences.

Malcolm's heart would keep on pumping faster and faster until there was nothing left to pump and whatever did managed to reach his cells would flash by so fast that no exchanges would be made, no oxygen in, no carbon dioxide out, no nutrients, no sugar... cells would rapidly die, systems shutting down one by one, starting with his brain.

Despite the pang of pure devastation that consumed Edrisa at the thought of losing such a brilliant brain, still she couldn't bring herself to actually move and get any closer to the injured man. To do something.

Strangely enough, she found that she could deal with a bomb and the pending, violent death that could hit them all at any minute; she couldn't quite deal with moving to help Bright.

"Humm... we need..." Edrisa stumbled over the words. Somewhere in her brain, there was the necessary information about what needed to be done, but all she could see was the face of James Fisher, father of two and loving husband, the man she had failed to save.

What if she ended up hurting Malcolm even worse? What if she made the wrong call and ended up killing him instead?

But JT was right. The profiler was going into shock fast and if nothing was done to stop that, he would soon go into cardiac arrest. Edrisa could see the way sweat had built all over his forehead and the hallow of his neck; she could tell Malcolm's lips were already tinged blue.

They needed to keep him warm, something that anyone with first aid training, like JT and Dani, knew perfectly well. But a morgue is the last place on earth where you find warm blankets and none of them were wearing particularly warm coats. JT's coat was there, but the man was mostly using it as a bandaid.

They needed to ease Malcolm's blood circulation as much as possible, but Edrisa noticed that JT had already taken care of that as well, loosening the profiler's necktie and keeping a knee under Bright's legs, keeping them elevated.

"Guys... two minutes," Dani reminded them. "I have the EMTs on the line, waiting for green light."

"You need to figure out a way to stop the bleeding," the detective's voice cut through her thoughts, his eyes searching hers for understanding.

"M-me?"

"Yeah, you," he let out, gaze darting between her and Dani. The younger detective was standing over the dead body of Bill Davis, but she seemed lost on what to do. "I need you to switch places with me, so that I can deal with the bomb."

The bomb, of course. Someone needed to deal with that. Sooner rather than later.

"Of c-course, I can do that," Tanaka let out. Fake it 'til you make it, that had been her motto during her first rotations as an intern. She could do this. She just needed to stop a possible aortic rupture with no access to an OR or any medical instruments or drugs. Easy-peasy. A walk in the park. As easy as steal-

"Y're still not moving," JT reminded her.

The small woman startled and finally moved forward, like her whole body was being pulled by an invisible string. Her legs were shaking so badly that she was sure she would face-plant the floor before reaching the two men. It didn't take more than two steps, but Edrisa was exhausted by the time she knelt by Bright's side.

He... didn't looked good. Of course no one can actually look their best when bleeding out on the cold floor of a morgue, but he actually looked bad enough to be inside one of those drawers, rather then outside. The whole thing just looked... wrong. Unjust. Downright foul.

A sudden surge of anger at the unfairness of it all suddenly overtook the medical examiner. Anger at the gunman, who had decided to invade her workspace and put them all in danger; anger at herself, for freezing so thoroughly in the face of danger; but mostly anger at Malcolm, for assuming that his life was less important than hers, for constantly placing himself in danger to protect her, not knowing the devastating effects that his actions had on those he aimed to protect. If the world lost Malcolm Bright because he had jumped in front of a bullet that was meant for Edrisa Tanaka... she would never forgive herself. Or him.

"You got this?" the detective asked, searching her eyes. At the woman's jerky nod, he grabbed her hands and placed them over the coat, holding it in place against the bleeding wound. "Good... put your weight into it."

Tarmel's coat was made of light black denim. It felt sticky and cold under her hands, the fabric shiny wet, already soaked through. Sticky ice under her fingers.

Ice.

Suddenly, Edrisa knew exactly what she needed to do.

"We're gonna need a knife, a pair of scissors, anything that can cut through this guy's skin," JT mumbled at a distance, his gaze intense as he looked at the dead body. The insulin pump stood out against the corpse's stomach, just beneath the discolored skin.

"There's sterile scalpels in the cabinet on your right, get one for yourselves and hand me the other," Edrisa called out. "And since you're getting the take out orders," she added, a hint of dark humor in her voice, "can someone fetch me that big grey cylinder by the wall? The one with the black stripe on the side?"

It took the two detectives only a few seconds to round up everything, but it was still enough time for Edrisa to wonder if she was doing the right thing or if she was simply insane.

"This thing says liquid carbon dioxide on the label," JT grumbled, even as he set the cylinder and scalpel within her reach. "You know the dude's not on fire, he's bleeding out," he pointed out.

"I'm aware," Edrisa voiced, sounding a lot more confident than she felt. "Trust me," she added with a wink. "Go stop that bomb... I got this."