Set at the end of S2E1 In My Time of Dying
Dad's going to be fine.
I'd been sitting in shock ever since Dad had left the room. What he'd said to me...what he'd told me to do... I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. Couldn't understand. Why would he say something like that? Why would he tell me? It might have been the lingering aftereffects of the head injury, but I wasn't processing anything very well. I stared at the wall and shook my head. Dad was fine. Banged up, sure, but be was fine. At least I had thought he was fine.
Now, I wasn't so sure. Our conversation left me uneasy. Not just because of what he'd said, but because of how he'd said it. The way he'd been acting. He wasn't fine. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I sat there, trying to keep the world from tilting sideways. I needed to go after him. Needed to make him talk to me again; explain himself. Enough with the cryptic messages, stringing us along all over the country. Enough with him being the commander and me being the good soldier I'd always been. He needed to tell me what was going on and it needed to be the whole truth this time.
Before I could get to my feet, though, I heard Sam shouting for help. My heart skipped a beat. I heard the commotion down the hall and stumbled to the door of the hospital room, unsteady and lightheaded. I was alive, but I wasn't anywhere near at full strength. Grabbing the door frame for dear life, I stared out into the hall as Sam came running up to me. He had tears in his eyes and looked scared. I felt sick to my stomach.
Dad's going to be fine.
"It's Dad." He said, sounding completely broken. Hurting. Afraid.
His hand grabbed my arm before I could say anything and together we headed down the hall. Every step sent jagged shards of pain through my recovering body and I was grateful for Sam's hand on my arm. I wouldn't have made it without him. Everything Dad had just said to me disappeared from my mind as I focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
Dad's going to be fine.
Everything blurred as we hurried down the hall. I almost asked Sam what had happened, but I couldn't get my voice to work. And then we were there, in the doorway of Dad's room and I stared in shock at the flurry of activity. What had happened? Sam still hadn't explained. I wasn't sure if he knew. Dad was on the bed and people were crowded around him. Sam's grip on my arm tightened. Someone tried to push me back, push us away and I finally found my voice.
"No, no, no! It's our dad. It's our dad." I stood my ground, Sam just behind me. I didn't know if he was holding me up or if he was holding himself up. All I knew for sure was that I was going to have a hand shaped bruise on my arm when he let go. If he let go.
Everyone stopped paying attention to us and everything was too bright and too loud and happening all at once. I stared at Dad between the people swarming around him. A mask over his face, monitors beeping, medications and tubes and I couldn't make sense of any of it. What had happened? He'd been fine. Just fine when he'd been talking to me not that long ago. I sucked in a breath, trying to stay focused on the here and now. People running around. Shouting orders.
Dad's going to be fine.
"Let's try an amp of atropine." Words turn into nothing but muffled sounds and they make no sense to me. I'd like to sit down. It feels like we've been standing here for hours, even though it's probably only been a minute or two. If that.
Dad's going to be fine.
"Come on." I say, barely daring to breathe. The desperation of the situation is starting to leak into my foggy head as I realize they're doing CPR. He's coding. He's dying.
Dad's going to be fine.
"Stop compressions."
"Come on, come on!" I mumble, tears burning my eyes. Dad's going to be fine…
"I'll call it." A disembodied voice says, "Time of death, 1041 AM."
Dad's going to be fine.