The extent of my medical knowledge comes only from watching medical dramas, so I did my best to make it make sense for the story.
Again, thanks for reading and reviewing
The soft beep of the heart monitor faded into the background as Nurse Emma Taylor stepped out of her patient's room into the ER. She'd just finished adjusting her patients IV line. She gave a final look back to the man in bed, ensuring he was comfortable before turning back towards the bustle of the ER.
The ER was a constant hum of activity, but years on the job had taught her how to keep a steady head amidst the noise. That calm demeanor was about to be tested.
The doors burst open with a flurry of movement as paramedics wheeled in a stretcher. Emma's pulse quickened, but she moved with practiced ease toward the commotion. Two figures came into view—one lying motionless on the gurney, the other walking alongside, gripping his hand as if his very life depended on it.
Her eyes flicked to the paramedics as they gave their rapid-fire report: "Male, late 30s, gunshot wounds, significant blood loss, hypotensive, unresponsive. V-fib on scene, shocked twice, now in sinus rhythm."
Emma's gaze snapped to the man on the stretcher. His face was ashen and marred, blood-soaked bandages covered his chest and abdomen. The paramedics had done their best to stabilize him, but even from here, she could see his breathing was shallow, his pulse weak. Every second counted.
"Let's get him into Trauma One!" Dr. Mitchell's voice cut through the chaos as they moved the gurney down the hall. Emma fell in step with them, her heart racing to keep up with the sense of urgency in the air. Beside the stretcher, the second man, dark-haired and covered in his own set of cuts and bruises, stumbled as he kept pace, never letting go of the injured man's hand. His eyes were wild, filled with a mix of desperation and determination.
"Don't let him die," he rasped, barely keeping himself upright.
Emma stepped in, gently resting her hand on his arm. "Sir, we need to work on him. You'll need to step back." He didn't respond at first, his hand gripping the cold one tighter, but eventually, he released it, his body sagging with exhaustion. Two other nurses guided him toward a chair as Emma turned her full attention to the patient.
The gurney was wheeled into Trauma One with swift precision, and Emma went into automatic mode. She snapped on a pair of gloves, taking her position as they transferred the patient to the bed. Blood was still seeping through the layers of gauze on his torso, staining his skin and pooling beneath him.
"Vitals?" Dr. Mitchell demanded.
"BP's dropping fast. 80 over 40," Emma reported, eyes locked on the monitor.
"Let's get those fluids going and prep for intubation," he ordered, his tone clipped but controlled. Emma worked quickly, grabbing the necessary supplies. Her fingers moved instinctively, but in the back of her mind, she couldn't shake the image of the man who had refused to leave his friend's side. She'd seen plenty of bad cases come through these doors, but something about this one hit differently—the sheer determination in the eyes of that man, the quiet panic beneath his stoic exterior.
As the trauma team rushed to stabilize their patient, Emma glanced back through the door's small window. The dark-haired man—Steve, she overheard—sat slumped in a chair, his eyes locked on the room, on the man who was fighting for his life inside.
"Stay with us," Emma murmured under her breath as she placed an oxygen mask over the patient's face. She wasn't just talking to the man on the table.
Everyone was entirely focused on one goal, hands moved swiftly but carefully as the team worked to stabilize their patient. His heart was beating, but it was weak and irregular, and his breathing was shallow. They inserted IV lines, pushing fluids and blood, trying to compensate for the loss and keep his pressure from dropping any further.
"Let's hang another unit of blood," Dr. Mitchell instructed. Emma quickly grabbed the bag, her hands practiced but her mind heavy with the tension of the situation. Every moment felt like a delicate balance between life and death.
Danny's body jerked slightly as they began to intubate, the tube sliding down his throat to help him breathe. Emma kept her eye on the monitor—numbers she'd seen a thousand times before, yet they always remained so significant. Each one felt like a tiny victory or defeat. His blood pressure was still low, but at least it wasn't dropping further. He was hanging on, but just barely. They continued their work.
"Alright, we've got him stable for now," Dr. Mitchell finally announced. "Let's get him to the OR."
The team began moving the gurney out of Trauma One, the tension in the air barely lifting as they prepared to take Danny into surgery.
Emma's job was done for now—she wasn't part of the surgical team—but she couldn't help feeling the weight of the moment as they wheeled him away. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It was only a small victory to get him from here to the OR but she would take it for now and she prayed the rest would go well from here.
Turning back toward the ER, her eyes immediately found Steve, still sitting in the chair outside the trauma room, looking like he was barely holding himself together. His gaze hadn't moved from the door Danny had disappeared through, his eyes looked intent on following him through it. His face was pale beneath the cuts and bruises, and now that the adrenaline was wearing off, Emma could see he wasn't just emotionally drained—he was physically battered too.
Her eyes trailed down to the awkward way he was holding himself, his arm wrapped protectively around his ribcage. She had seen it before, the tell-tale signs of someone who'd taken hits to the chest, possibly more. His breath was shallow, wincing with each inhale.
Emma approached cautiously, not wanting to startle him. "Hey," she said gently, kneeling down beside his chair. Steve blinked, his eyes slowly refocusing on her, as if only now noticing her presence.
"Your friend is being taken to surgery. He's stable for now," she told him softly, her tone as calm as she could manage. His jaw tightened slightly, and he gave a small, barely perceptible nod. "But you..." Emma continued, her gaze shifting to the way he was cradling his side. "You're hurt too. I think you've taken some damage. We need to get you checked out."
Steve immediately shook his head. "I'm fine," he said, though the grimace on his face told a different story.
"You're not fine," Emma countered, her voice gentle but firm. "You need to let someone take a look at those ribs."
"I... I have to go with him" he insisted, his eyes still glued to the door Danny had been wheeled through.
Emma sighed softly. Working and living around a military base she was quite familiar with the type—the kind who would keep going until they collapsed, putting everything else before themselves. She wasn't going to argue with him. Not now. But she would convince him.
"Alright," she said quietly, standing up. "I'll go with you," she signaled to one of the other nurses, who quickly brought over a wheelchair. "but only if you're in this" she indicated towards the wheelchair, knowing that the man's ego would not allow it.
She was right as Steve immediately and vehemently shook his head no and moved to stand on his own. He faltered and Emma and the other nurse caught him, gently guiding him back into his seat. Emma kneeled next to him.
"At least come into an exam room so we can get you cleaned up," she kept her voice as sweet as a kindergarten teacher coaxing a defiant child. Both knowing that gentleness is the best weapon against defiance. She placed a gentle hand on his battered check. Causing his gaze to shift from the trauma room door to the nurse kneeled before him, she'd at least succeed in fully drawing his attention. So, she continued, "and we will check you out while we are at it. You can wait for news on your friend there. We will keep you updated on your friend, I promise."
Steve hesitated, his eyes flickering between Emma and the trauma room door. His hand still pressed to his ribs, pain evident in his posture. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he agreed. "Fine, but I'm not taking that" he indicated towards the wheelchair.
Emma nodded and she and the other nurse moved to help him up and towards an exam room. His breaths came out in short, controlled puffs, and Emma could tell that every movement sent a wave of pain through his chest. They guided him into a nearby exam room, keeping her voice low and soothing.
Once inside, she helped him onto the bed, noticing the strain it took him to lift himself even an inch. "Take it easy," she murmured, offering him a soft smile as she set to work. She carefully assisted him in removing his tactical vest. Then she unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the mottled bruising across his chest—deep, purpling marks where the bulletproof vest had stopped rounds but transferred the blunt force trauma directly into his ribs. The swelling was already significant.
"Looks like you took a few solid hits," Emma said as she examined him, trying to keep the tone light to mask her concern. She gently pressed her fingers along the bruised area, feeling for any telltale signs of breaks or fractures. Steve winced but didn't say a word. His eyes were far away again, clearly still with Danny.
"Might be just some cracked ribs, but the doctor will order some x-rays to make sure there's no more damage," she informed him, her tone steady and professional. "We'll get you wrapped up and manage the pain. But you need to stay still for a while, okay?"
Steve gave a slight nod, but Emma wasn't sure he'd really heard her, she could tell he wasn't fully present. His thoughts were elsewhere.
"He was so pale," Steve muttered, as though speaking to himself rather than to her. His voice was soft, haunted. "I've never seen him so pale. I've never seen anyone so..." His words trailed off, unwanted memories forced their way into his thoughts and interrupted his statement. He was caught in a web of painful memories. His brow furrowed, and Emma watched as something dark flickered across his face. "Except..." The word slipped out, barely a whisper. He didn't finish the thought. Couldn't.
In that moment Emma was certain that this man had seen a lot of action, which inevitably meant he had seen a lot of death. She suspected he was recalling past missions and assumed he was thinking of those that didn't make it home. So, she didn't press. She knew better than to push him right now. Instead, she continued to work, wrapping Steve's ribs with gentle care, giving him the space to sort through the storm of emotions building inside him.
After a long moment of silence, Steve's voice broke again, quieter this time, more fragile. "Do you think he'll make it?" He was looking at her with eyes full of hope and desperation.
He might as well have drawn a knife and pierced her skin with it. Emma's fingers faltered, and she dropped the roll of bandage she'd been holding. It was a valid question, one that she should have known was coming but had caught her off guard nonetheless. It's never easy answering that question for loved ones
She hesitated, struggling for the right words. Steve caught that hesitation, saw the uncertainty flicker across her face, and his shoulders slumped. The weight of the moment settled on him like a lead blanket.
"Ah, um..." Emma stammered, her throat tightening. She wanted to offer reassurance, to tell him everything would be fine, but she knew better than to make promises she couldn't keep. So instead, she gently placed a hand on his arm, offering what little comfort she could.
"The doctors are doing everything they can," she said softly, her voice gentle but sincere. "Your friend..."
"Danny," Steve interjected, his voice raw with emotion.
"Danny," she echoed, her throat constricting at the tenderness in Steve's voice when he said his friends name. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay composed. "Danny," she repeated, this time more confident and professional. "He looks strong. He feels like a fighter. That helps. But right now, all we can do is wait."
Steve nodded, though his eyes remained clouded with anguish. "I should've gotten to him sooner," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I should've... I could've..." The sentence trailed off into an empty silence, the weight of unspoken guilt heavy in the air.
Emma tightened the bandage around his ribs and met his gaze, her expression serious yet compassionate. "I don't know the full story," she said quietly, "but from what I've seen, you took bullets to the chest, and that's no small thing. You did everything you could," she said firmly "you got him here, and that's what matters. You gave him a fighting chance."
Steve didn't respond, but she could see the conflict waging war behind his eyes—the guilt, the fear, the overwhelming sense of helplessness. She wished she could do more, say more, but there was only so much anyone could offer in moments like these. All she could do was stay by his side, letting him know he wasn't alone.
As Emma finished securing the bandage, Chin and Kono appeared in the doorway. Steve sat quietly on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the curtain across the room. Emma, seeing them approach, gave Steve's shoulder a final reassuring squeeze before slipping away.
The look she exchanged with Chin and Kono as she passed them said it all, they would be there for him now, Emma could see the care they had for him.
Kono was the first to step forward, her voice soft. "Steve?"
He didn't respond at first. Chin watched as Steve's head stayed low, eyes locked on a spot on the ground like he was trying to see through it, to make sense of something beyond the room. There was an eerie stillness to Steve that set off alarm bells in both of them. The man of action, always in control, now seemed lost in the moment.
Kono moved closer, placing a hand gently on his arm. "Steve, are you okay?"
He blinked, startled as if he hadn't noticed them come in. His gaze slowly lifted to meet Kono's. There was a hollow look behind his eyes but then he recovered quickly.
"He made it here, they're still working on him" the news allowed both Chin and Kono to relax a little as they had been anticipating the worst. "He lost a lot of blood, he was so pale," Steve murmured, echoing the same words he had spoken earlier. His voice was rough, he cleared his throat of its constriction, "just waiting, waiting to hear any news" he finished stronger.
"OK, that's good, good he made it here" Chin stepped up next to them, his face tight with concern. Feeling the need to reassure his friend he continued "He's in good hands, Steve. The doctors are doing everything they can."
"And how about you? Are you ok?" Kono questioned looking pointedly at the bandage wrapped around Steve's torso.
"Yeah, um, I'm fine. Waiting on x-rays for me, but… it's just a couple of cracked ribs. Vest took the worst of it."
Steve's jaw clenched, and he shook his head, the weight of guilt still heavy on his shoulders. "I should've been faster. Should've noticed the threat sooner." His voice cracked, the pain of the moment still raw. "I found him, we were talking... I lost focus for a moment and..."
"Steve, whatever happened it's not your fault" Kono said gently but firmly. "You got him here. You kept him alive, you gave him a chance. That's more than most could've done."
Steve sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. He was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. Kono's words hung in the air, cutting through the fog of his guilt but he could not let himself off the hook so easily. He looked at her, then Chin, who stood close by, quiet but present, waiting for Steve to gather himself.
Kono squeezed his arm, trying to ground him. "And you will be there for him now. And we're here. You're not alone in this, Steve."
He nodded, though the anguish still clouded his face.
Chin looked toward the door as the nurse from before was entering with a clean shirt.
"I brought this for you" she held out the shirt for Steve. "And this as well" it was a prescription paper "the doctor has released you from the exam room under the condition that you take these and take it easy" she looked to Chin and Kono as she said this. Something told her they would be the ones to help fulfill this request. "and stay in the hospital in case the x-rays show anything concerning" she concluded. Chin gratefully took the prescription from her as Kono helped Steve slip into the new shirt.
"There is still no news on Danny, but there is a waiting room I'll take you to, they'll be sure to update you there the moment there's any news" she'd been hoping to provide more of an update by now, to fulfill her promise but there just was no news to give.
Steve nodded, acknowledging all that Emma had said. He stood slowly, wincing as his ribs protested, Kono helped steady him with a hand on his back.
Together, the four of them made their way to the waiting room that would put them closer to Danny but still no closer to knowing their friends fate.
And as they went, Steve couldn't shake the memory of Danny lying there, so pale and still, fighting for his life.
To Be Continued